The retailing giant Target has been gone from Canada for almost a year - the signs have been removed, the last returns long settled, and vast expanses of malls now sit empty and unused. But do we miss them? Would we welcome Target back with open arms like a boyfriend we weren't really "so omg over already?" Just like with an old love, while we may miss wearing their sweaters, we need to ask if that alone is worth the bullshit parts of the relationship. (In this case: high shipping costs, fewer choices in selection than American market, long wait times.) You better ponder that quickly, because Target is back - sort of. Target announced this week that they will now ship to Canada, allowing all Canadians - not just those within border trip driving distance - to get their hands on cheap toilet paper and durable children's clothing.
But I don't know that I'll be so quick to forgive. We were jilted, Canada. Target left us in the middle of the night after some great - albeit short - foreplay, with no hint as to a pending break-up. We were looking for condoms when it packed its bags and stole away. It was here one day and pretty much gone the next, no longer answering our calls. IT BROKE UP WITH US ON A POST-IT.
And now it wants us back. Target will ship to Canada, but it's not without strings attached. The CBC reports that some commenters from online discussions are not so pleased with the chain, noting would-be shoppers discussing exorbitantly high shipping costs:
"I just looked and the pricing is absurd," wrote one disgruntled shopper on an online discussion thread titled, "OMG — Target shipping to Canada!"
"I was super excited about this yesterday," posted another shopper. But that excitement quickly died down when the person apparently tried to buy something on the Canadian Target site: "My $30 purchase was almost $70 with shipping and duty. Absolutely ridiculous."
"$29 to ship a T-shirt, no thanks!" wrote another unhappy customer.
Nope - no thanks, Target. Despite your new international website proclaiming "Target Loves Canada," I feel like we need to make a clean break here and see other people. We had a good run, and if I feel the need for a quick fix home decorating booty-call sometime, I know where to find you.
Image Source: Flickr
When my son was 6 weeks old, I took a quick trip to the grocery store without him. The checkout clerk, noting my squishy midsection (in fairness, all my sections are squishy), asked me, “When is your baby due?” Instead of telling her he was currently out-of-utero and probably screaming himself blue in the face over my absence at this very moment, I did what anyone in my position would do: I threw six AERO bars onto the conveyer belt and replied “Oh, in a few months!”
Why'd I lie? Because I was so embarrassed for her at the error that I felt it was my job to make her comfortable despite her being the one who was wrong. This is because at that point in my life I still operated under the long-held conditioning that a woman should be “polite.” Upon hearing I was indeed “pregnant,” the clerk then put her hand on my stomach and declared the fat rolls contained within the confines of my velour maternity leisure suit were in fact a "future daughter" and that “she was never wrong.”
This clerk was well-intentioned, so I cut her some slack: rather than burn her garage down, I simply never went back to that store, because the thought of having to concoct some tragic story about why I wasn’t getting bigger was so stressful that I was willing to pay $2 more per pound for butter across town for the rest of my life.
It’s often hard to tell if a woman is in fact pregnant, and sometimes, maybe all the times, you just shouldn’t say anything. My own personal rule is that unless there is a large, suspicious puddle of fluid on the floor and a woman is screaming something about “the head,” or “crowning,” or “dear God, someone please call Jason!” then I just keep my eyes upward and talk about the weather.
Pregnant women are sensitive and hungry - hungry for specific foods. I was a pregnant woman twice so I know this to be true. I once ordered two Boston Creme donuts at a donut shop drive-thru when I was pregnant with my daughter, but as I drove away I soon discovered – TO MY HORROR – that neither of said donuts contained any cream at all - Boston, or otherwise.
This was not good.
This was not good at all.
These were the days before cellular telephone technology became commonplace, so I drove around until I found a pay phone with a phone book, and then I called the donut shop and blasted them through heaving tears, “NO CREAM! NO CREAM!” and then I hung up and cried in a parking lot for several minutes before returning to work.
When I returned to work I relayed the story of my terrible, horrible, no-good day., complete with the whole sordid donut tale - angry phone call to the shop and all. While my female peers commiserated about pregnancy cravings and just wanting a goddamn donut, one kind co-worker, an older gentleman, said "You're pregnant? I never noticed."
I guess he figured I just really, really liked donuts.