When I first get to Target, I experience childlike joy: I run to the dollar aisle and rejoice over cheap socks and cute pens. (So adorable! So reasonably priced!) Then I forge deeper. Maybe-when I first entered the store-I had a specific purpose, but regardless I get drawn in so quickly that my head spins.
There’s clothing. There’s food. Stationary. Books. Blankets. Cosmetics. And it’s all so much fun, running around, picking out reasonably-priced item after reasonably-priced item, because of course I need purple glitter pens and a unicorn pillow and a notebook with a silly cat picture on it. It feels like half of the store is on sale so of course I should get everything in that half because I’m saving so much money! I’m so caught up in the fun of it all that not once do I think about how I have fifty pillows and more pens than I’ll ever be able to use.
Reality returns in the form of the checkout line. (All roads eventually lead to the checkout line.) I go, and I smile awkwardly as they scan my cartload of poor impulse control. I watch the total go up and up as all of my reasonably-priced items add up to an unreasonable total.
When I leave the store, all I’m left with is a depleted bank account and a cart full of regret. I didn’t even remember to get what I came for.