If you've been tuning in this month, you'll know that my family and I have been boycotting Target since they released their problematic Pride collection. We are determined, but boy has it been difficult... particularly on my wife.
I'm not saying that I kept a diary of my wife's Target withdrawals... but I'm not saying that I didn't either.
Here are the "alleged" entries of my family's first week of boycotting Target.
My wife began the day optimistic. Determined. She kept saying, "I can do it. I can do it. For the sake of what is right, I can do it."
For a moment there, I thought this boycott was going to be kind of easy. I thought she would bounce into action, and never look back.
At about noon on day one, she started to crack just a little bit. She looked at me and said, "The only jeans that fit me properly are from Target. Where am I going to get my jeans? What will I do without my favorite jeans?"
One weird thing. She has been speaking differently. It's almost like a nervous tick. Random words come out at random times. Day one, I kissed her good night and said, "I love you." She said, "I love Lindt Lindor Milk Chocolate Candy Truffles."
And I think that has something to do with Target, but I'm not really sure.
My wife began laughing today... a LOT. But then, abruptly, her laughter broke into a disconcerting grimace that reminded me ever so slightly of a gargoyle.
I tried to remind myself, "This is going to be a good thing. This is going to make a difference," and my wife proceeded to give me a long-winded rant about how Satan tempted Jesus, and how this is my temptation in the desert. Shortly after, I found her reading her Bible in Matthew chapter 4, repeating, "40 days of THIS?!"
She tried to go to Walmart and even made it about 10 feet into the store... but then she sped home and took a shower for 45 minutes.
Have you seen The Shining? The way Jack Nicholson slowly becomes unhinged?
It's beginning to feel like that on day three, at the house. Several times, I caught her petting picture frames. When I asked if everything was okay, she said, "I can't find gallery frames for an excellent price anywhere. You know. Think of the frames."
Later, I caught her piling bath bombs onto her side of the bed.
I said, "Honey, what are those for?"
And her answer was a little terrifying. I can't really remember. Only something about the onslaught of a war of sparkles and tiaras. So I don't know what that means.
And I didn't ask.
The shakes have begun. Confusion has overtaken her eyes. Every couple of minutes she gasps and looks around, face full of panic.
She cries in agony, "WHERE will I find oversized blouses?" She gasps again, "What if somebody has a birthday? Where am I going to go? Where am I going to go? What if there is a birthday?"
Midway through lunch, my wife shrieked, realizing she was only seven decorative pillows away from an empty bed top.
Our day somehow got worse when news broke that Chip and Joanna Gaines had just released their new candle trough.
That was day five.
The rations have vanished.
The boycott now has begun to affect the family's food supply. This morning, I asked my wife, "Do we have any milk?
My wife whispered, "Don't you know where the milk comes from? Don't you know where I get the milk?"
I answered, my voice quivering, "Milk? What milk? I don't need any milk!"
She was almost out of Meyers soap and nearly caved when the revelation kicked in that she might have to go to Walmart.
To make matters worse, Target had just released their new Meyers fall scents, including, but not limited to pumpkin spice—and if you don't have pumpkin spice Meyers soap, who are you, really?
Then things really spiraled when she needed to pick up Starbucks honey flat white and some new laundry detergent. For the first time in a long time, this was going to require TWO stops, and let me tell you, those two stops did not make her happy.
At bedtime, she locked herself into the guest bedroom and insisted on being left alone.
For the first day, I have a little hope.
The whole thing was awful. Terrible. Miserable. Heartbreaking.
But still not bad enough to make me or any of my friends want to chug down a Bud Light.