Dear Target Changing Room,
I hate you. You are a lying liar and I don’t need your opinion on whether or not I should still be shopping in the juniors’ section. I’ll do what I want.
I naively went to you today with hope in my heart and a few cute flowered dresses under my arm. And maybe a jean vest but we won’t talk about that. Let’s just say I had a momentary lapse of judgment and a crazy flashback to staring at that cool girl in study hall in 1989.
I was feeling okay about myself until you came along. I was feeling great, actually, because I was in Target, without my kids. You heard me. No kids. Just moments before I had been frolicking down the aisles with the freedom that only grandparents can provide in two-hour increments.
And then you came along. You sat there all smug with your “mirrors” pointing at me in every direction. I swear that my body does not look like that at home. Things were lumping where they shouldn’t be lumping and wrinkling and sagging it was just not okay.
I thought that you were my friend, Target Changing Room. I mean, you want me to buy the clothes, right? And I didn’t see any burlap sacks hanging out there, and that was the only thing that I could imagine wearing after I left your cold embrace.
I do have a theory about you. You want me to never go to you again. With your judgments and your snide comments about the appropriateness of two-piece swim wear on a 38-year-old woman. But I have it allllll figured out. You want me to make impulse buys WITHOUT trying anything on, with promises to myself that I will return the item if it doesn’t look right. And the pile of non-returned tank tops and skinny jeans in my closet are all the proof I need.
You’re a cold-hearted bitch, Target Changing Room. I won’t trust you again.
Not Your Friend,
This original piece by Joelle Wisler was written exclusively for In the Powder Room, a division of Hold My Purse Productions, LLC. Featured image © depositphotos.com/kozzi2.