Dear Target

Target logo

I want to hate/fuck you, Target. My parents have waged a serious non-swearing campaign when it comes to my blog, but how else do I explain my very extreme feelings for this giant retail chain? It’s no wonder their logo is a bullet, as that store has a direct line to my heart. And yet I hate it with every fiber of my being, too. It’s quite the conundrum. I feel I can only explain my feelings by directing them to the objection of my affection and displeasure, so Target, this is for you:

Dear Target,

I love your new greeters at the door — not the sweaty, underpaid homeless looking greeters that you see at Walmart, but the bright, shiny people you have welcoming us into your gigantic, overbearing store. It’s like they’re saying, “Hey, I know it’s scary, but I’m here for you.”

And I know what you’re doing putting that one-dollar section right as you enter, luring in cheap asses like myself — but it’s a unique kind of cheap ass that loves this section. It’s a cheap ass who thinks she NEEDS ten plastic Christmas bottle stoppers, six packets of Scooby Doo chewies, and 20 glowsticks. But thank you, anyway, as I love this section for reasons I will never be able to explain. $20 worth of garbage from the $1 section? Sign me up!

Ahh yes, I used to be able to just glide by the clothes section, but then you went and started making your clothes cute. You vindictive assholes. Now my kids have to eat their Scooby Doo chewies while Mommy decides whether she needs another ironic tee shirt. Yes. Yes, I do. And of course, since I have the kids, I usually guess my size, and nine times out of ten, the clothes do not fit. But do I return them? Hell to the no. They sit in my closet where I forget about them until it’s beyond the Target return policy. Again, assholes. The pajama section alone is enough to send me into some sort of snuggie seizure — aisles and aisles of comfortable clothes. And just to spite me, they now have footie pajamas for adults. For adults, people! Like I can pass that up. Oh, and quit making your maternity clothes so damn cute. Every single time, I fall in love with something Liz Lange. Just stop it.

footie pajamas

“My husband will love me in these,” said no one ever.

Next, I slide around the corner to the baby and toy section. And this is where I know it’s going to turn into a shit show, as the boys no longer want to remain buckled up in their uber cool, giant double-barreled grocery cart that I’m certain could be used as a battering ram if need be. I’m never able to bypass the clearance rack because, as previously mentioned, I’m a cheap ass. Bright green small fry tee in 3T? SCORE! That bitch was only $7, thank you very much.

Damn, I have to hit your toy aisle as I have an upcoming kid birthday party, so now the boys are going to lose their shit and ask for this…and this…and this. And I have to stand firm because I am nothing if not principled. By aisle ten, I’ve usually given up and bought them something totally cheap that’s usually broken before we’re home.

Next up, DVDs — aka, our second babysitter. I have never made it by without buying at least one. It has to be on sale, though. See former note about principles and standing firm. Yada yada yada.

Aaaaaand then we’ve got the food section. You went and had to open a grocery store and, hence, become known as what they call the “Super Target”. Super dickheads. Super sneaky. Super cheap. I’m on to you and your reasonably priced, preservative-filled food. Aisles and aisles filled with bite-sized snacks void of any nutrition, food from a box, and don’t forget the wine. It’s like you designed this with me in mind, you smarmy yet brilliant fiends.

The cleaning section means we are almost done. Hallelujah! But, alas, as I’m picking out my bathroom scrubbers, my four-year-old inevitably has to take a number two. I’m not kidding. It happens every time. It’s like your cleaning section is a laxative. The last time I was there, I had the one-two punch of a dirty diaper, too. Awesomeness. Of course, Mommy still has five more things to get in the first aid section (a “buy 20 boxes of Toy Story band-aids and get a $5 gift card comes to mind, as those are my fave), but no, I can’t wait lest there be a clean-up in aisle five.

In closing, I DO NOT WANT YOUR FANCY CREDIT CARD AND ITS 10% SAVINGS, so stop asking me! As I will not be returning to your establishment. Yes, I will. No, I won’t. Yes, I will. No, I won’t.

I want to hate fuck you, Target.




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  1. Renee Blackwell says:

    I too love/hate this store. I felt this “I love but…” … in so many ways. There are THREE of these stores on my route home from work and I have…. yes…. visited every last one of them and totally dissed the Wal-Marts en-route. I’m so confused by how I can look at one rack of clothes and think “come to mama…” and then turn and say… “WTF????”


  1. Dear Costco says:

    […] recently wrote about how I wanted to hate/fuck Target, but I want to let you know, I want to straight up marry you and get you pregnant. I know, I know, […]

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