Tonight I whiled away some hours at Target. Ah, Target. Land of opportunity. Thank you for your bright aisles, clever ads, and well-designed packaging that lulls me into thinking I’m not shopping in a big box store, no, but in a made-just-for-me shopping inside-joke of a place that has nothing but good intentions for me and all of mankind…
(Target’s marketing team: y’all deserve a hefty bonus. After this week’s Missoni meltdown, you know this.)
So I had an actual list of necessities to gather…kleenex, kitler food, kashi granola…(kkk not intentional. whoops.)…but I also took time to meander and ended up finding a yummy fall candle and (also) yummy new Ben & Jerry’s philanthropy-tie-in ice cream called VOLUNTIRAMISU. (You guys!)
Eventually I found myself (whoops again) in the shoe section. Sometimes when I’m shopping alone, I treat myself as though I’m both customer and old-fashioned shoe store employee. Ignoring the vaguely Discovery-Zone-ball-pit foot smell of the aisles, I give the carefullest of try-on treatment. How’s that arch support? Let me feel your toes. Hm. Would you like to see that in a 9?
Because, friends, while I love the convenience of solo shopping, in a store or online, I do miss the special care of shoe store attendants I recall from my childhood. I remember one in particular from Plaza Shoes circa 1990. I don’t remember his name, but I can still see his face. Tall. Dark hair. Glasses. Reminiscent of my dreamy middle school science teacher…
(Wow. About 80 things about my taste in men just became abundantly clear. Hullo, Freud.)
I didn’t end up buying any shoes (Kashi on the other hand…Buy 5 get 1 free. You guys!!), but the stolen moments of imagining a life in which I wore new shoes…those were moments well spent.
This blog post brought to you by Target, obviously. And by my mom, who asked me tonight to blog more. And then told me some cute mom-like things, which I won’t divulge, because she ended with, “but don’t blog about this…I don’t think people would understand.”
And I am nothing if not a credible journalist. “Carefullest” is not a word.