It's happened.
I suspected it was happening when I wouldn't go to Las Vegas until the house was totally clean.
I suspected it was happening when I started carrying snacks in my purse at all times.
I certainly suspected it was happening when Hubs started repeatedly telling me that I talk too loud into the phone.
I have tried to ignore it for years, but tonight the sign was so strong and clear, that it is officially time to embrace what I have long known to be true.
The final acceptance of this knowledge came tonight while perusing the aisles of Target. I have read many blogs recently with pretty girls posting ridiculously cute pictures of themselves in expensive looking outfits. Without fail, there is a caption underneath the picture that states at least part of the ensemble was purchased at Target. Hmmmm... I started thinking. Target? For clothes? For cute clothes? This would surely take some investigation.
And so, I buckled up and cruised on over to Target tonight, hoping to find myself immersed in a blissful world of colored skinny jeans and leopard print flats. Alas, it was not so. The Target in my neck of the woods was picked over, unorganized, and smelled like moldy couches. After 20 minutes I decided that I was officially not going to try to buy clothes at Target ever again.
On my way to the register to purchase the one item I had picked up, (a bag of starbursts, naturally) my eye stopped on some V-necks for men.
Ohhh, la, la, were these things looking good! So many colors, so many patterns, so many sizes, and all for $10 a pop? My oh my, it looked like I had finally entered the celestial Target kingdom that others have long raved about. Hubs would certainly look oh so dashing in these sharp v-necks.
Lets see... color... red? No, black...? Nah... White? How about the stripes.... would Hubs like yellow? Too many choices! My heart, ever the wily devil, convinced me that Hubs needed ALL the shirts. In ALL the sizes. Then my brain kicked into gear and reminded my heart that I don't have all the money in the world to buy Hubs V-necks at Target, even if it is the celestial kingdom. AND THEN... out of left field, a voice came to me saying, "Buy them all, take them back to Hubs, let him pick two, and then return the rest."
"You're a genius!" I said to the voice, and carefully started selecting sizes and colors. Who am I trying to kid? There was no careful about it- I grabbed everything in sight with the ever-present thought in mind that I would bring most of these back.
"You having a shirt party?" The cheeky girl at the register asked me as I rang up the shirts. I tell you, cashiers these days sure can be sassy. Just ask me about Carlos. Or Joel.
"No... I'm just going to take them home to my husband and let him pick two he likes, and then I'll return the rest so that he gets the ones he wants."
"Wow. Sounds like way too much work to me. If you just pick out two yourself, he'll never even know about the other options. Where'd you ever get that idea to take them all home?"
I was pretty much over this cashier by this time, so I shrugged off her question, grabbed my bag and toloodled on out of Target.
Naturally, on the way home, I thought about it. Where had I learned such a seemingly inefficient way of choosing shirts for my husband?
And then it dawned on me.
Mom.
I had learned it from my mom.
Countless occurrences where my mom went to the mall and came home with four different styles of the same dress flooded my memory. Three different sizes of shoes, or six different colors of the same shirt laid out on the kitchen table. "Pick two, Bonnie, and I'll take the rest back," or "choose the dress style you like the most- but you can't have them all!"
I had always secretly wondered at my mom's way of shopping and thought numerous times to myself, "But how can she stand to always have to be returning stuff? Surely she can't really enjoy shopping in this way."
And, now, here I was, without even realizing it, starting my own legacy of buying in bulk and returning the superfluous merchandise.
Yes, I suppose now it is official.
I am my mom.
Have YOU turned into YOUR mom yet?
I suspected it was happening when I wouldn't go to Las Vegas until the house was totally clean.
I suspected it was happening when I started carrying snacks in my purse at all times.
I certainly suspected it was happening when Hubs started repeatedly telling me that I talk too loud into the phone.
I have tried to ignore it for years, but tonight the sign was so strong and clear, that it is officially time to embrace what I have long known to be true.
I'm turning into my mom.
The final acceptance of this knowledge came tonight while perusing the aisles of Target. I have read many blogs recently with pretty girls posting ridiculously cute pictures of themselves in expensive looking outfits. Without fail, there is a caption underneath the picture that states at least part of the ensemble was purchased at Target. Hmmmm... I started thinking. Target? For clothes? For cute clothes? This would surely take some investigation.
And so, I buckled up and cruised on over to Target tonight, hoping to find myself immersed in a blissful world of colored skinny jeans and leopard print flats. Alas, it was not so. The Target in my neck of the woods was picked over, unorganized, and smelled like moldy couches. After 20 minutes I decided that I was officially not going to try to buy clothes at Target ever again.
On my way to the register to purchase the one item I had picked up, (a bag of starbursts, naturally) my eye stopped on some V-necks for men.
Ohhh, la, la, were these things looking good! So many colors, so many patterns, so many sizes, and all for $10 a pop? My oh my, it looked like I had finally entered the celestial Target kingdom that others have long raved about. Hubs would certainly look oh so dashing in these sharp v-necks.
Lets see... color... red? No, black...? Nah... White? How about the stripes.... would Hubs like yellow? Too many choices! My heart, ever the wily devil, convinced me that Hubs needed ALL the shirts. In ALL the sizes. Then my brain kicked into gear and reminded my heart that I don't have all the money in the world to buy Hubs V-necks at Target, even if it is the celestial kingdom. AND THEN... out of left field, a voice came to me saying, "Buy them all, take them back to Hubs, let him pick two, and then return the rest."
"You're a genius!" I said to the voice, and carefully started selecting sizes and colors. Who am I trying to kid? There was no careful about it- I grabbed everything in sight with the ever-present thought in mind that I would bring most of these back.
"You having a shirt party?" The cheeky girl at the register asked me as I rang up the shirts. I tell you, cashiers these days sure can be sassy. Just ask me about Carlos. Or Joel.
"No... I'm just going to take them home to my husband and let him pick two he likes, and then I'll return the rest so that he gets the ones he wants."
"Wow. Sounds like way too much work to me. If you just pick out two yourself, he'll never even know about the other options. Where'd you ever get that idea to take them all home?"
I was pretty much over this cashier by this time, so I shrugged off her question, grabbed my bag and toloodled on out of Target.
Naturally, on the way home, I thought about it. Where had I learned such a seemingly inefficient way of choosing shirts for my husband?
And then it dawned on me.
Mom.
I had learned it from my mom.
Countless occurrences where my mom went to the mall and came home with four different styles of the same dress flooded my memory. Three different sizes of shoes, or six different colors of the same shirt laid out on the kitchen table. "Pick two, Bonnie, and I'll take the rest back," or "choose the dress style you like the most- but you can't have them all!"
I had always secretly wondered at my mom's way of shopping and thought numerous times to myself, "But how can she stand to always have to be returning stuff? Surely she can't really enjoy shopping in this way."
And, now, here I was, without even realizing it, starting my own legacy of buying in bulk and returning the superfluous merchandise.
Yes, I suppose now it is official.
I am my mom.
Have YOU turned into YOUR mom yet?
