Friday Night at Target
I went to Target tonight—walking through a freezing cold night to get there. (The things I do for cheap essentials…and an un-baby-accompanied stop at DSW, which is in the same building.) The girl in front of me in line had a pile of clothes, a soft-looking robe, some makeup items. One of the sweaters she’d chosen wasn’t on sale; she debated whether to buy it and decided she would. “It was a really bad day,” she confided to me.
“Target is always good for little pick-me-ups,” I said. I remembered many a Target trip undertaken when I lived alone in Brooklyn, lo those many years ago—a new lipstick, a new shirt, something fun to make me happy. Then I looked at my own things on the conveyor: baby wipes, a 3-pack of baby forks, baby shoes, a flour sifter, toothpaste, dishwasher detergent. It was 9:00pm on Friday night.
I walked over salt-crunchy streets home with my unexciting purchases and my new boots from DSW. Andrew had from-scratch chicken soup and a bottle of wine waiting. Target hasn’t changed much, but everything else has.
“Target is always good for little pick-me-ups,” I said. I remembered many a Target trip undertaken when I lived alone in Brooklyn, lo those many years ago—a new lipstick, a new shirt, something fun to make me happy. Then I looked at my own things on the conveyor: baby wipes, a 3-pack of baby forks, baby shoes, a flour sifter, toothpaste, dishwasher detergent. It was 9:00pm on Friday night.
I walked over salt-crunchy streets home with my unexciting purchases and my new boots from DSW. Andrew had from-scratch chicken soup and a bottle of wine waiting. Target hasn’t changed much, but everything else has.
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