Target

I love Target. For those of us that are high-class, we call it Tar-ja'. I find some reason to go to Tar-ja' at least once a week. Out of mascara? Off to Tar-ja'. Soleil blasted through the last box of diapers? I shall dash to Tar-ja'! In need of a cheap popcorn fix? Tar-ja', here I come! So I was at Target (I have tired of typing Tar-ja'. too much work, so it's back to Target) a couple of days ago. Soleil and I were weaving our way round the store, her sitting in the bottom of the cart eating the cheap popcorn while somehow pulling everything within arm's reach off the shelves, when a stranger asked me where the laundry detergent is. Now, I am a friendly person, and I know Target well, so I explained where the detergent was located and sent the stranger on their happy way. A few minutes later, another customer asked me where the garden hoses were. Having just perused Target's gardening section myself, again I explained the general location to the stranger, and off she went. For the third time in about 10 minutes, another person asked me the location of a product. I couldn't figure it out! Maybe I am spending too much time in Target...Do I really look like I know the entire store that well? I'm sure Scott would not be happy to hear that!
Until it hit me. I was wearing a red shirt and khakis, the uniform of Target employees. I grabbed Soleil out of the cart and ran home to change.