You may still be recovering from the news bomb last week about TARGET SERVING ALCOHOL.
For those of you I’m breaking this information to, stop hyperventilating and put down your car keys because you can’t just head to your local Target and get wine drunk right now, ok?
It’s only in the very beginning stages in Chicago, but if Americans white women have anything to do with this, there will be vodka and rosé on tap in all Target stores by 2016. Hillary, can you hear me? PUT THIS ON YOUR CAMPAIGN PLATFORM IMMEDIATELY.
While this is as exciting as a surprise Beyonce album, it’s also terrifying. I already feel like I’m drunk when I’m in Target. I go in for lip gloss and leave with 3 outfits (complete with shoes), 8 pounds of trail mix, 4 new area rugs, a Swiffer Wet Jet, cards for every person for every holiday until the end of time, a Venti latte, and a small child. Where does the small child come from? WHERE DOES ANY OF IT COME FROM!? Ever notice Target doesn’t have a “10 items or less” checkout line? BECAUSE NO ONE COULD EVER USE IT. I call it the #TargetBlackout and it’s been dominating my life and draining my bank account for years. I honestly can’t imagine if actual alcohol was involved.
That being said, I would definitely still imbibe whilst shopping (assuming the carts will have cupholders?).
I went on HLN’s The Daily Share earlier this week to discuss this topic and we played a little game about what I would do in Target under the influence.
And then it really got me thinking. Let’s take a look at what would happen if you got drunk in America’s favorite department store….
Drink 1: Stop by the bar and grab your first drink. Place in cupholder (I’m serious about these cupholders, Target–they’re as important as a child seat). Casually make your rounds, thinking about what you (don’t) need to buy and wondering how the hell all that stuff in those bins is $1.
You came in for tampons and a bday card, but you’ll grab that stuff on the way out. You feel yourself coming to a halt in the women’s clothing department. Wait, can I still wear this maxi dress?, you ask yourself. The answer is yes. Always yes.
Drink 2: New maxi dress in tow, you hit the bar for round two. Starting to feel yourself a little bit, you make your way to the beauty department.
Body wash, razor cartridges, makeup remover wipes, Sally Hansen at-home gel nail polish, yup you’re gonna need all of that. But also something a little more FIERCE. Bright red lipstick: YAAASSS, that’s it. Ever worn it before? NOPE. Do you care? BITCH PLEASE. Time for round 3.
Drink 3: We all know drink 3. Drink 3 means you’re in it to win it or you would have stopped at 2 and gone home like a responsible adult. You grab your cocktail and check your neglected iPhone. Oh, just a casual 47 missed group texts. Ain’t nobody got time for that. You check Facebook. Another 3 engagements? MAKE IT STOP. But wait, doesn’t Target sell engagement rings? Ain’t no shame in seeing what your recently manicured hand would look like with a little .5 carat BLING BLING, BITCHES. You head over to the jewelry section to try on rings and take pleasure in the pure disdain the counter girl is giving you for making her work (clearly she’s not used to it because WHO BUYS ENGAGEMENT RINGS AT TARGET?) If you’re anything like me, you send your boyfriend a text like this:
Drinks 4 & 5 (you got overzealous at the bar, no judgment here): The switch has officially been flipped. You’re ready to party.
But OMG you’re STARVING. Grab your fifth drank and head to the grocery section. First stop: COOL RANCH DORITOS (duh). Polish off that family size bag LIKE A BOSS. Second stop: Pumpkin Spice Oreos (and now you know you’re drunk). Third stop: Frozen pizza. But wait, the microwaves are all the way across the store. FUCK THAT, TIME FOR ANOTHER DRINK.
Drink 6: Ignore the side-eye from the bartender as you order (what does he know, he bartends AT TARGET), because you’re feeling sexty. You slink over to the lingerie section and pick out the most stripper-esque getup Target has to offer. Something like this perhaps:
You head to the dressing room, clumsily gracefully change, admire your sexy ass through your wine/vodka goggles, then selfie the shit out of those 3-way mirrors. Your husband/boyfriend/ex-boyfriend/booty call/recent Tinder match has no idea what’s about to hit him. After you’ve exhausted yourself, pulled a hammy, and used all the storage on your phone, you spend the next hour sitting on the floor of the fitting room in your panties finding the best skinny crops, tan filters, and editing tools to make you look like Adriana Lima. #NailedIt
Drink 7: You hit send on the perfect pic as you sashay to the bar for numero seven. You’ve been here so long the bartenders have switched out, which means A) No more side-eye and B) You’re in less danger of getting cut off and kicked out. Perfect. You grab your drink, take a sip, and check your phone which is SURE to have a response from your man along the lines of “You’re so beautiful and sexy and I want you to come home right now so I can rip your clothes off and do bad things to you” with 16 water droplet Emojis. But….nothing. You can feel the anger build in your chest and tears well in your eyes. How could he?? You sent that text FOUR minutes ago and he’s just going to IGNORE IT?! He’s supposed to LOVE you! (Or at least love having drunken booty call sex with you!!). You can’t hold it in any longer. You make a mad rush to the paper product aisle for a box of aloe-infused Kleenex then drunkenly sprint to the bedding area where you make a pillow fort on the floor and heave uncontrollably for the next 30 minutes…
…until he texts back: “Sorry, phone died.”
Drinks 8 and 9: OH THAT’S HOW HE WANTS TO PLAY?! In a blind rage, you stomp to the bar and demand beverage number EIGHT….AND NINE. You’re a strong, independent WOMAN, you don’t need this bullshit from A MAN! He’s not going to appreciate your sext? Well then he’s not going to appreciate that you’re going to be out raging all night while he’s waiting for you to come home with dinner and lube. You hit the home section, rig up a flower crown of silk hydrangeas, pop some Molly Altoids, then march your way over to Electronics where you sync your EDM playlist to a Beats Pill and dance like a complete maniac for the next hour. Who needs Coachella?! Who needs guys?! FUCK GUYS! YOU JUST WANNA’ DANCE!
Drink 10: When you’ve danced ‘til you can’t dance no more (and been asked to leave the store), you sneak away to the bar to hydrate/escape security. You order your double digit drink then realize how sweaty you are. You’ve got to get out of these clothes immediately. A drunken genius idea hits your brain and you make your way to the men’s clothing section where you change into a sensible pair of pleated khakis and a red polo. Now you look like you belong.
You walk stumble around the store impersonating an employee until you are busted by an actual employee but only because you were found throwing up in a fake houseplant.
You are forced to abandon your hard-earned cart full of clothing, beauty products, lingerie, electronics, and snacks and exit the building. Your Uber has arrived. And wait, you never got tampons!
On second thought, maybe the Target bar isn’t such a great idea.