Breaking up is hard to do

Dear Target,

Although I knew this moment was coming, I’ve been coasting along in denial, secretly hoping that ignoring it would mean it would never come. I am deeply apologetic that I am unable to share this news in person, but I am not sure that I have the emotional strength to do so. It comes down to just a few short words: I am breaking up with you.

I know how difficult this must be to read. You’ve been there for me, a reliable trusted friend for more than a decade. I mean, how many apartments and homes have you helped me furnish and decorate? It was you that I turned to as my wedding day approached, knowing you could be trusted to provide me with all of the necessities for moving into grown up life. While we could argue that I have not quite grown-up, that wasn’t because you didn’t help me prepare. Oh Target, you were even there when I became a parent. You were faithfully there right at the beginning; I think you even provided the pregnancy test. Our connection didn’t end with that though, you provided maternity clothes, baby clothes, sweet little blankets, and even lamp shades for her perfect little room. You and I, we were a match made in heaven.

Somewhere along this journey you changed. It was subtle and it took me some time to catch on, I think it was camouflaged by my denial. Instead of being an “errand”, your charm and good deals elevated you into a “destination.” I wasn’t aware of the shift, which I attribute to your nuances and the sneaky way you started to manipulate my life. Instead of saying things like, “I must run to Target to buy some shampoo”, I started casually saying things like “I think I am going to go to Target on my lunch hour.” That pretty much resulted in me walking around finding things on your shiny shelves that were just begging me to take them home.

I know you probably have excuses for that behavior and I wish I could say that it was the only obstacles standing between you and me, but it isn’t. I have become aware of the technique you use to siphon money out of my wallet. I lovingly call this the Target Multiplier. My Target Multiplier averages about a 3, which means I leave your darling establishment with approximately three times the number of items on my list and/or having spent three times the amount of money I intended to. It’s evil Target and I just don’t have room for evil tactics in my life.

I’ve relied on you to provide cute, quality clothing for my daughter for three years now. You are no Janie and Jack, no Gymboree, no Hanna Andersson, which means I can easily justify the $14.99 that a darling little outfit for Kate will cost me. That is reasonable for outfits 1-9, but starts losing its merit for outfits 10-999. It isn’t only clothes Target, you have a sneaky way of making things catapult off your shelves into my shopping cart. The last time I visited, I ended up with a gorgeous set of paisley note cards. While precious, I don’t really hand write anything, so I am not sure why you thought I needed them. I also ended up with a whimsical set of Valentines dishes. While adorable, I think we both can agree that the day doesn’t really warrant its own set of toddler dishes now, does it?

I am sure you are well aware of the economic crisis we are in. I can envision the strategic planning that has been taking place around your board room tables as you plan to weather this economic storm like the rest of us. My family has been overwhelming blessed thus far to have avoided situations like “layoffs” and “downsizing” that are effecting so many of our dear friends and family. Seriously, Target, get real, we are in Michigan, the ARMPIT of the USA right now. While we have been fortunate, (outside of that tiny little cloud of doom called our 401K’s) I’ve realized that shouldn’t prevent us from being proactive and tightening our purse strings a little. Yes, I know, the PURSE that you so graciously provided. You are making this difficult, aren’t you?

I bide you farewell Target. While I cannot say our paths will never cross, it will be with far less frequency. Please don’t call, don’t write, and don’t mock my husband when I make him visit you instead of me.

Love,
Lyndsay