Asking me if I want to go to Target is like asking a starving child if they want ice cream. The Hubs rarely volunteers to go along, and almost never suggests it. When I received a text suggesting that we do just that…together…on a week night, I was understandably surprised.
I love Target. They are right around the corner from my house. I can breeze over to buy school supplies, wine, a pair of sandals desperately needed at the last minute for tomorrow, wine, lunchbox goodies… did I mention wine? I can wear my yoga pants and feel right at home amongst my wine carrying, yogapants wearing fellow shoppers.
Our Target employs many differently abled workers. The store has family and gender neutral restrooms. The clothing racks and isles are arranged widely enough to maneuver my cart around without getting stuck. They make using coupons easy. They are friendly to my kids in the checkout line even when they are whining and on my last nerve.
Could Target get any better? Maybe if they put employees in yoga pants too?
Now the hubby does not feel this same attraction for Target. He will go if dragged as long as I promise to steer clear of bedding or curtains. He is a little gun shy after we painted our bedroom a few years ago and I launched a two week navy seal worthy expedition to find accessories that fit the new color scheme and grownup ambience. Purses, sunglasses and anything requiring a fitting room is also strongly discouraged.
Call me crazy, but I can’t think of a single thing that would prompt such a suggestion. Unless he is hoping to spark my interest in something outside the stretchy pants and granny panty realm. Considering my fashion choices as of late, this is a very real possibility.
I waited with bated breath through dinner to ask if he still wanted to head out. Not a word as to the purpose of the request. I had run down the mental list in my head of anything he couldn’t wait until the weekend regular grocery trip to have: toothpaste, deodorant, must have daily gatorade… All supplies seem to be in order.
We like to play this game of withholding information from each other to see who will break down and ask/give details first. This happens with kids schedules, appointments, packages that come in the mail, the results of internet research, you name it. We like to play curiosity chicken. It’s how we keep the spark alive.
I made it all the way to the entrance doors before buckling under the suspense and whisper- shouting “What are we here for?” Hubs gives a side eye smirk before replying to let me know that crossing the threshold before asking still means I lost. “Slippers ”
Disappointment that I broke first courses through me. I folded for slippers. Wtf? As a conciliation prize, I choose some lovely patriotic decorations for my office door from the dollar spot. As an added bonus, he didn’t find any slippers. Target’s selection of man shoes is woefully small right now. This means he will need to give in and order from Amazon or make another trip out. Either way, I will not be some easily fooled next time. I can already taste victory.