I love Target. I love it like a drug. Give me an excuse to go there and I’m all over it. So tonight, when I decided that I should bake brownies to take to a friend’s house tomorrow for a play date, and that we’re out of diapers and wipes (oh, and napkins too), the red and white dartboard called to me.

Well, ever wonder where all the freaks in your neighborhood go on a Monday at 9:30pm? Well, look no further. They are at TARGET. That’s right. Tar-jay. And I’m pretty sure the freaks from your neighborhood, contacted the freaks from my neighborhood and made plans to go to MY Target together.

The minute I pulled into the parking lot, I regretted the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra (or underwear) under my shlumpy get up. Maybe I’m too paranoid and growing up with a single mother has made me overly cautious, but my lovely little (huge, really) Target felt scary. Outside, there was a man holding a baby and screaming at his wife, a teenager defiantly pushed a cart into the lot not really caring who and what it hit, and an employee that looks like he was just fired (again)…

Inside, I grabbed a cart and surveyed the store: the “regulars” I normally see, (tired moms trying to keep their kids from melting down as they buy detergent) were no where to be found. Instead, weirdos roamed the aisles, making me wish I told T-Ko I loved him (instead of “can you do the dishes for once?”) before I left.

I zipped through the store, and as always, managed to grab some other things I “needed.” (Seriously, it was the perfect size plastic container). There were only four check out stands open, all with very long lines, about seven freaks deep. It was like a metaphor: Four Lines of freaks, which freak do you choose? I chose the line with the freak buying a suitcase, a hammer, and I’m pretty sure using traveler’s checks. My other option was a line where a guy with jesus hair was talking to himself, buying hair gel and nuts (no, kidding).

$100 bucks later (how the hell does that always happen???), I sped out of the parking lot and headed home to my humble and SANE abode. I know I live in a very safe neighborhood and a safe city for that matter, but I’m a big scaredy cat and I guess having a baby heightens my awareness. So from now on, no more Tar-jay runs late at night. We’ll stick to our normal day-time, Target routine. Besides, I feel a lot more normal when I’m shopping with other freaks like me….

FILED UNDER: A Little Life

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