Before I get going here, I just want to say that Mr. is doing fine. He's working on his left-legged knee-bends and is his usual charming/ornery self. I say this for the benefit of those of you who've been following his progress and don't want to wade through my ramblings about my day out. You're welcome.
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| because you didn't want to see me shopping: attribution below |
Yesterday, I went shopping in a Target store.
As I wrote that, I imagined what my reaction would have been in the great beforetimes: Big Deal.
But yesterday it was a treat, because I've only set foot in an actual Target bricks and mortar about half a dozen times since that awful day. Most of my various and sundries have arrived on my porch via Amazon, a service that I once shunned but now rely on. So many of the things I need can't be found at a local store. The delivery is wonky, of course. Despite my best efforts, things often arrive willy-nilly, not together, probably because they're coming from different warehouses or vendor locations.
But I digress.
I wanted to go to Target for two reasons.
First, because I had a $100 gift card burning a hole in my pocket. It was a reward for answering survey questions for a service I've belonged to for who-knows-how-many years.
Second, because I needed shoes, and I wanted to try them on. Ordering clothing and shoes over the internet is a crapshoot because the sizing is funky. It's disappointing if a shirt doesn't look the way you'd imagined; it's another thing if your kicks are pinching your toes or sliding off your hooves.
Sketchers seemed the way to go. I've had a couple of slip-on pairs that I wore to pieces. And Mr. Ginley got 2 pairs, courtesy of my sister, Denise (and nieces who work at DSW), and they have been a godsend. They slip right on Mr.'s feet. (He can do the right foot, I still need to assist with the left.) He loves the way they fit, and I love not having to tie or velcro them on.
So, there I was in the Target ladies' shoe department, trying on what I thought was my size. Turns out, my feet have grown or flattened out or whatever. I found a pair that felt like I was walking on clouds, and will hopefully remain as comfy throughout their lifetime.
The most difficult part of the shoe-buying process was removing the stiff cardboard inserts. Once I'd gotten past that, I had to deal with the elastic string holding the two shoes together. The past year has taught me that, if nothing else, I'm adaptive, so I baby-stepped my way down the aisle to ensure both shoes fit comfortably. Mission accomplished.
On to ladies' lingerie. Or, as my Mom used to call them, "unmentionables."
There I found what I needed, although I must say, it took me a stupid amount of time to locate everyday briefs in my size. No thank you to wedgie-cut panties. Why would you want to wear something that see-saws its way up your posterior all day long?
I heard your "ew" from here. Sorry, moving along...
At this point, I was about two-thirds of the way through the gift card and casting about for ways to spend the remainder. Razors for Mr. Ginley did the trick, although, Target being Target, I managed to find several other items I "needed," such as the "family-sized" bag of M-n-Ms (don't judge, Mr. and I are a family), some festive Halloween-decorated cookies, and a supply of the Bodyarmor sports drink I've become addicted to.
Thus pushing my total, including tax, beyond the gift card amount, tagging on another $50 dollars or so.
To further reward myself, I stopped at the in-store "Starbuckets" (as Joe once called it) and nabbed a tall mocha on the way out.
Judge if you will, I care not. It was so refreshingly normal.
Sometimes, retail therapy does work. And it's ever so much more fun than stewing about the crappy hand we've been dealt.
Photo attribution: Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons: Yingling's Boot and Shoe Store trade card, 1879, printed in Allentown, PA; created by Mary S. Yingling (1816-1900). I'm thinking the boot on the left had a reinforced toe and the one on the right did not.
.tiff)
