Target. Oh, Target, my love, are we destined to hurt one another forevermore?
After my last trip to Target, I hadn’t had the personal fortitude to try again, until yesterday, when they had barbecue’s on clearance, and we both needed one, and didn’t have wads of cash to shell out for one. So I took a deep breath, packed all three Monkeys in the ‘Burb, and headed off to meet my pain head on. It couldn’t be any worse. Could it?
We stopped off at DH’s office on the way, and he looked at me like I had just suggested eating caterpillars for dinner when I told him where we were headed. Some things men just don’t get, and a woman’s love for Target is one of them.
This time I was prepared though. I had the $2.17 required for two popcorn’s and two soda-pop’s, yes, two, so as to alleviate the possibility of any fighting from the get-go. I also was able to nab the special, giganto-cart with the extender on it where you can strap your Monkeys in, and still have a place for the baby and Target junk you can’t live without. Score!
Everyone is strapped in, buckled, tied down, can’t move, has their popcorn and Jones Green Apple Soda, never-mind my cart is 16 feet long; they cannot escape me this time! And off we go. I give a mighty push. Nothing. The cart won’t move. I jerk it back and forth. Nothing. What the….? Jiggle, shove, kick. The left back wheel is perpendicular to the rest of the cart. $#*&. There is NO way I am unpacking these kids and trying to do this while they walk beside the cart. Hahahahahahahahaha! No. Not gonna happen. So, I kick the wheel as strait as I can get it, and begin to drag the cart through Target. (cue the toiling slave music…)
Yes, I actually drug the cart, through Target, with 120 or so pounds of my kids in it, and a gimpy wheel. And of course the barbecue clearance section is in the very south-40 back corner of the store. Of course. OK, how can I make the best of this? I start talking to the cart, calling it silly names, and the kids think this is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. They are jerking and bouncing around as I pull the lame cart all the way to the back of the store, spilling popcorn and soda as we go. But, they are laughing. No matter how much things may suck, if your kids are laughing, everything is easier.
After finding the ellusive Target employee and asking for our new barbecue to be brought up front, I begin the arduous task of dragging my brick of a cart back to the front of the store. Near the shoe department, the wheel really jacked itself, and the boys lurched forward, bashing Eric’s head into Jeffrey’s mouth. Can I just get out of Target without any blood, just once?? But no, Jeff’s lip is split wide open, but he doesn’t yet realize he is bleeding. That is, until Eric chimes in with “Look at the blood!”, and the shrieking begins. Jeff is something of a drama queen, if I hadn’t mentioned that before.
Bloody lip taken care of with a Huggies wipe, tears cleaned up, face red and splotchy, (the kids and mine!) we drag ourselves into the check-out line. No, I do not want to save 10% by opening a Target card. I spend enough money here, thank you very much. No, really. I don’t want one. Thanks. No. NO.
We have a lovely new, stainless steel barbecue sitting in the back of my ‘Burb. And I made it through Target. I can do anything!