I’m Amy, and I’m a Target Shopaholic. This is my story:
I actually had on my calendar the debut of Target’s new Liberty of London all-things-fabulous-floral-print line. Right there in between “file Client X’s trademark application” and “Emily’s vet appointment.”
You can imagine, then, how excited I was when my sister (also a Target shopaholic and an enabler of my own addiction) called me four days before the line was supposed to debut: “Get to your Target now. Liberty of London is out, and it’s going fast. I’m here in the [rustle, oomph…darling! So cute!] dressing room at the Franklin Target.” No sooner did I hang up than my other enabler, my mother, emailed me: “Get to Target now. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.”
Never mind that it was the middle of the workday and I had four projects to finish by the end of the day and was hoping to stop early and exercise. My priorities, after all, are thus: 1) Liberty of London, 2) pay mortgage, 3) achieve healthy lifestyle. So I pressed “save” on the client letter I was working on and hightailed it to the Target on White Bridge Road before some other Target shopaholic could get her smarmy hands on my Liberty of London.
Out of breath, I rushed into the clothing section.
Hello? Liberty of London? Anyone? Bueller? I dashed around the entire clothing section, even poking my head into the maternity department, but, alas…
No Liberty of London.
I dialed my sis. “Grrrrr. &#@$&^$@!”
“Oh, it’s not there yet? Maybe the Franklin Target is a test store or something. Sorry?”
“Sorry my ^@#$^!” In my disappointment, I marched straight over to the Easter candy section and bought not only the Cadbury mini crème eggs with the stuff that looks like real egg yolk inside but also a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs, the solid kind. I mean, I had to leave with something.
I didn’t have to check the Targets in the area the next few days, because my sister did, reporting in… “At the Brentwood Target. No Liberty of London.” “Sorry, nothing at the Cool Springs Target, either.”
Finally, on the day my calendar (and Target’s flower-shaped posters hanging all over the store) promised, Liberty of London premiered at my Target. Nervously, I rolled my empty red cart over to the women’s clothing, spotting a flash of floral from a distance but not wanting to get my hopes up. Then, just when I got within arms-reach of the colorful racks, some chick had the audacity to get in between my Liberty of London and me. “Mama, ain’t that floral bikini the cutest thang?”
I knew then I had to act fast. So I nudged and pushed and slapped my way through the section, grabbing my size in every dress, shirt, and scarf, and rushed to the dressing room, knocking over only three small children and an older gentleman on my way.
“Ma’am, we only allow six garments in the dressing room at a time.”
I glanced at my overflowing cart in concern. “But what if someone steals my cart? Will you watch it for me?”
“Whatever, ma’am.” She rolled her eyes.
It killed me, but I started with only six, ripping the fabrics over my head as quickly as I could in case some Liberty of London thief happened to venture by and wheel off my cart heaped with precious cargo. I made three more trips out to the cart with bare feet and inside-out shirt for the other nineteen pieces. (Yep, nineteen: Don’t tell that snotty dressing-room girl, but I smuggled seven pieces in for the last fitting…hee hee.)
Don’t go acting like I’m all greedy. I did reject a few things, one shirt that gapped around my armpits and a dress that fell behind me like a bridal train and might look weird at the coffee shop (where I spend most of my days). Oh, and the floral-print rainboots, but only because they only came in children’s sizes.
Walking out of the store balancing five bags stuffed with floral fabrics (and a Liberty of London-print note pad to make my grocery lists in style), I muffled my guilt with the thought that at least I have cheap taste. What if I’d gone crazy like this at, say, Nordstrom?
I’m Amy, and I’m a Target Shopaholic.
