Target is a drug. And I'm in need of rehab.
This past weekend I ventured to Target for socks. All I needed was basic, white socks. Simple. White socks. Should have taken all of 5 minutes to pick out and purchase.
One hour and $80.00 later, my shopping spree is complete.
I have been convinced for a while that there is a chemical imbalance in the air at Target that makes you buy way more than you had ever intended. Or maybe there is subliminal advertising seeping through the walls that says "You, you right there...don't doubt yourself. You really do need all that junk in your cart."
Whatever it is, it hits you like a wave when you first walk in and meet that godforsaken Dollar section. I don't know what it is about it, but there is always something in there that's appealing to me. This time, it was green beads for St. Patrick's Day. I thought they'd be fun to wear to work...I mean I don't want to get pinched! I throw them in my basket and move on.
I strolled through the rest of the store like I had all the time in the world. I ended up buying some sandals, jelly beans, mascara, vitamins and an Easter card. Who sends Easter cards? Apparently I do.
Notice WHITE SOCKS didn't make my list. The one thing I went in to buy, I totally forgot.
Looks like I'll be barefoot in rehab.
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