Easy Target

It happened again. It shouldn’t have, because after all our history, I know damn well I can’t control myself where you’re concerned, but for some reason I thought this time would be different. As soon as I walked through your door I felt my resolve slip away. My heart beat faster, my eyes tried to drink in everything about you at once, and my hands … well … there’s no way I could stop myself from touching. And, of course, once I touched I had to possess.

You seduced me with the usual ease, despite my best efforts to remain detached and businesslike. Sure, I had an etched-in-stone agenda I’d vowed to stick to. Sure, I convinced myself I could go to you, do what needed to be done, and get on with my life, but I should have known better. You may call yourself Target, you dangerously seductive shopper’s paradise, but you’re being ironic. I’m the real target, and the bulls-eye is right, smack in the middle of my pocketbook.

This most recent indiscretion started innocently enough. I went to you for a seemingly simple thing … two birthday cards. Didn’t even get a cart, just grabbed a basket on my way in. Even now, I can’t fully explain how I ended up back in the parking lot, all giddy and light-headed, with a trunk-load of stuff. I mean, I can kind of explain the two Nerf bowling sets and the Nerf ring toss. Those went with the birthday cards and probably should have been on my list in the first place, and checking to see if you stocked them saved me a trip to Toys R Us. Two rolls of gift wrap and three matching bows sort of sprang out of the toy purchases. Organic, if you will.

My real sins occurred somewhere in the home furnishing section. (What the hell was I doing in the home furnishing section)?! Shelves were involved, and a cabinet for the bathroom, a wrought-iron thingy for the hearth, that I thought would be the perfect container for a jumble of those big, spicy-smelling pine cones. Then, wouldn’t you know, I found some throw pillows that looked as if they’d been custom made for our living room, and … well, the list goes on … and on. The register receipt looked like a freaking streamer.

I did, at least, promptly confess the whole sordid affair to my husband. He forgave me. He’s no stranger to your charms. Way back when we were first dating, he went to you for a bag of charcoal and came out with patio furniture. Oh yeah, he knows all about you.

I’m not a shopaholic. I can window shop my way through that Southern California retail Mecca known as South Coast Plaza without ever once reaching for my Visa card. I can walk into a grocery store, purchase exactly the items on my list – nothing more, nothing less – and never feel even a twinge of temptation to stray. Online shopping? Click, click, clickety-click … I get what I logged on for and sign off. You’re my weakness, Target, my wallet-wise Waterloo. Something about your wide aisles, your endless assortment of everything, hooks me every time.

I refuse to believe I’m the only sucker out there with a retail Achilles Heel. C’mon, confess. What’s your guilty shopping pleasure? Antropologie? Apple Store? Barnes & Noble? Do tell!Also, join me here on Wed. (12/5) as I participate in The Next Big Thing blog hop and tease you with details about my latest work in progress. Then, next Wed. (12/12) you will FOR SURE want to check out the five amazing authors I've tagged: Robin Covington, Lisa Kessler, Karen Erickson, Katee Robert and Jennifer Probst. Enjoy!!