We go to Target® sometimes.
I have a friend who goes there all the time. Her son thought up a dragon toy that had wheels for feet and breathed ice cream instead of fire. He said you could ride it like a bike. He also said he wanted one for his birthday. When his mom explained that it didn't really exist he suggested she look for one at Target®. (They probably do have this. If not, their merchandising team has make a mistake because this thing sounds wicked cool.)
Anyway, this is what happens when I go there...
First of all, my local store has these monstrous kid carts. My kids LOVE these carts because they both fit. These things are huge. It is a regular cart with an additional two-seater thing bolted on. I think it makes the cart like 34 feet long. I feel so ridiculous trying to maneuver around the aisles that I wind up laughing almost the entire time we are there. (Well played, Target®.)
So anyway, we arrive and I announce that we just need one little thing. This is to both let the kids know we won't be there long and also as a reminder to myself.
But as we walk through the doors, something happens:
That is not a bulls-eye. That is a hypnotic-eye.
Because moments later:
I'm walking back to the car with an overflowing cart.
I have no idea what just happened.
And I'm pretty sure I forgot to buy the one thing I went in there for.
Originally published on my crappy blog: Parenting. Illustrated with Crappy Pictures™.
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