Oh, Target.

I’ve been a loyal friend to you.  Some (ahem…BrightSide!) might say a little too much so.

I’ve wandered your aisles, killing the hour before an appointment, filling my cart with little discoveries.  I’ve been seduced by your CLEARANCE signs, drawn into buying everything from sheets to gift bags to beauty supplies, and your dollar section calls to me like a siren captivates sailors.

So why did you abandon me in my hour of need?

I recently accepted the fact that I needed pants.  (If that sounds like some kind of AA introduction, it is.  A girl picks up a few pounds and suddenly none of her casual pants will button, but she’s just a little too stubborn to buy new clothes…three years later, I finally came to my senses.)

Granted, I came to my senses a week before we were due to leave on a trip.  One that really did require a nice pair of khakis or some similar article of clothing.  So yes, I was a bit late to the party but I figured hey, how hard could it be to find a pair of pants?!

How hard, indeed.

We were in Target grabbing a few things for Bear who, seemingly overnight, had outgrown the majority of her clothing.  Five days away from packing I realized the child had very few nice-ish clothes, so we were hustling to rectify that situation.  (Yeah, I REALLY wasn’t on the ball before we traveled this time.)

I subscribe to a sacrosanct shopping philosophy: There shall be only one trip to the dressing room.  (Notable exception?  Bear’s jeans shopping.)  Because the last thing my worn-out tail has patience for is trooping back and forth to try on umpteen items of clothing.  I’d much rather spend a huge chunk of time gathering umpteen items then just barrel through once we hit the dressing room.

Bear was totally on board.  As far as she was concerned, the more pieces of clothing she carried into that changing room the better.

As for me, I figured since I’d be in there until the next full moon anyway I might as well try on some pants.  ‘Cause how hard can it be to find a pair of khakis, right?

I pulled a few pairs off the rack along with some nice gray slacks (wow, does THAT sound old or what?!) and we trooped off to begin the dressing room marathon.  We looked like fashionistas heading into battle.  Well, if you can call Target shoppers fashionistas.


I am all about efficiency in the dressing rooms.  Ain’t nobody got time for dawdling when you’re staring down 40 pieces of clothing so chop chop!  I started hustling Bear through her things, and when she had a good pace going I grabbed a pair of khakis.

It didn’t take long to realize something had gone terribly wrong.

Did I have the right size?  Yes.  I knew this because the next size up actually gapped at the waist. And yet, in my correct size, I suddenly knew what it felt like to be a sausage link.

Those khakis stuck to me like white on rice.  Like peanut butter on the roof of my mouth. Like dog hair on every single pair of workout pants I own.

Now, I was sharing a changing room with Bear so all the truck driver cussing was internal. This is what someone standing outside the door would have heard:

  • me:  Are you kidding me?  Are you KIDDING me?!  Since when does every pair of pants have to suction to your legs?  I’m a grown up, for Pete’s sake – I JUST NEED A PAIR OF KHAKIS!
  • Bear:  What, mom?  They look good!
  • me:  They look insane!
  • Bear:  But I bet they’re comfortable.
  • me:  I don’t need comfortable, I’m not buying leggings, I just need a pair of khaki pants.
  • Bear:  They look fine.
  • me:  Thank you, sweetie, but I’m thinking I might need more than two inches of fabric for a zipper…

All three pairs of khakis were the same thing.  I’d wonder if I was supposed to be wearing compression tights as I pulled them on, zipped up, and fastened a button no more than three inches above my crotch.  Which might work out fine if I was twenty-something with washboard abs, but seeing as I’m a grown ass woman…

WHY, Target?  Whyyyyyyyy???

The gray slacks (which, coincidentally, came from the business clothes area) were perfect and now hang happily in my closet.  But I had to go to a grownup store to find khakis made for, well, grownup bodies.


Target has forsaken me.

I guess I’ll be sticking to the other 154,000 square feet from now on…