I get on kicks. Everyone around me knows this. My kicks sometimes have a theme, or sometimes they’re so impulsive that they take on a life of their own. Writing has always been a central theme to my kicks. Whatever it is that I want to pursue at the time, I’ll always find that I want to write about it afterwards.
Thankfully, most of my impulsive moments are healthy, non-embarrassing ones. The unhealthy are usually the ones that begin and end at my beloved Target. I go in for paper towels and come out with over $150 worth of jewelry, cardigans, ballet flats and skin care products. As I do my walk of shame to the car lugging all the goodies, I ask myself, “Why? How could I let this happen?…Again?”
I’ll tell you how it happened. Those artful visual brand managers screw me everytime. In order to get to the necessities of my Target, I have to walk through the clothing area, shoe aisles, around the kitchen and bathroom supplies and through the electronics. There are obviously 50+ things that I never knew I’d need while taking the million mile march to even get close to what I came for. By the time I get my fingers on some napkins, it’s like getting to grandma’s house and finding the big bad wolf in her red cape with a hood. It’s already too late.
As I unload my fabulous new purchases into my car, the guilt subsides. Thankfully it’s completely gone before any thought of returning the items comes to mind.
And away we go.