I walked into Target for two things: shampoo and deodorant. That’s it, a five-minute errand, in and out. But no one in the history of humanity has ever gone into Target and only bought the two items they needed.
The first trap is the Dollar Spot. I don’t know why they still call it that, because nothing in there is actually a dollar. It’s $3, sometimes $5, and yet I will stand there like I’m studying ancient artifacts, debating if I need a ceramic pumpkin, a tiny chalkboard sign that says gather, or a three-pack of miniature storage bins that couldn’t hold a single sock. None of these things serves an actual purpose in my life, but they are adorable, and my ADHD brain has already built a fantasy life where I am the kind of person who uses seasonal napkin holders.
Don’t even get me started on the endcaps. They rotate faster than a Vegas slot machine, and somehow I always lose by walking away with things I never knew existed five minutes ago. Every aisle ends with some shiny new “must-have” item. A Tiffany blue colored waffle maker. A scented candle called “Autumn Flannel Dreams.” A mug shaped like a pumpkin that I will 100% never drink out of but somehow need because it’s “festive.”
And don’t get me started on the office supplies aisle. I already have an addiction based on notebooks, pens, and paper products, so walking down this aisle feels less like shopping and more like attending a support group where everyone relapses at the same time. I know I should find a meeting, but the binders and new patterns on the composition books – oh my! Target really has its claws into me now. Cristal gel pens (IYKYK), Sharpie highlighters with the see-through tip, and folders, oh so many pretty colors, and they come in plastic, too! Why do I want them all? I don’t even have school-aged kids at home anymore, but suddenly I’m convincing myself I might need a backup composition notebook for… something. And don’t even get me started on the 5 Star reinforced edge paper. Oh my!! That stuff hits me like an addict finally getting a fix: crisp, indestructible paper that I absolutely don’t need but can’t walk away from. Crisp, indestructible, and absolutely unnecessary for someone who types everything into Google Docs. But still, into the cart it goes. Maybe two packs – you know, just in case they stop making it and I have to sell an organ to purchase a pack on the black market.
By the time I finally drag myself to the shampoo aisle, I’ve forgotten what brand I even came for. Do I need volumizing? Moisturizing? Detoxifying? A clarifying scrub made with volcanic ash from Iceland? It’s sensory overload. Every bottle is screaming a promise at me, and I’m just standing there like a wind-up toy that’s run out of tension and collapsed right in front of the Pantene.
As if someone has rewound me up again, I spot the Ulta section. I knew it was there, and I tried so hard to avoid it. I tried to forget the genius (and evil) marketing partnership, but here it is, glowing under soft lighting, lined with samples that look inviting even though, let’s be honest, I wouldn’t touch those petrie dishes of snot and spit if my life depended on it. I just like looking. And before I know it, an Urban Decay eyelid primer has made its way into my cart. Just one, though, I’m not about to explain to my bank account why my eyelids suddenly require a retirement plan.
I spot the ColourPop lip gloss on the way out. Typically, I stick with neutral tones, but a scarlet red is calling out to me. My mom always said Mary Magdalene wore red before she met Jesus (read the Bible, she had a past), so maybe that’s why red feels so scandalously glamorous. I grab the tube of 24Karat, and if Saigon just so happens to tumble into my cart on its own… well, who am I to argue with divine intervention? Do I check the price? Why? I’m so deep in it as it is – what’s another $40 on lip gloss?
Two hours later, I wheel out of Target $287.34 poorer, with a cart full of things I didn’t need: three candles, new pajamas, a seasonal door mat, leggings that were marked down to $10 (fine, I grabbed 5 – they were on sale!), eyelid primer, lip gloss, some paper, a few composition books (black and white scroll of course), and a set of gel pens that “spark creativity.” Oh, and no shampoo or deodorant. I will have to check Amazon tomorrow …
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