If only my cat could manage to park her breakfast without getting it all over the fur on her hind end, which ultimately ends up in nasty little kitty skid marks all over the living room rug, I wouldn’t have needed to go to Target for another can of carpet cleaner where, upon seeing the summer clearance already in progress, I fell into a deep depression over the fact that I have only just found my swim suit for the season, which according to the people at Target, is already over.
All the summer items were on clearance, relegated to a few overcrowded, disorganized shelves. The watering cans, the colorful outdoor pillows, the decorative Indonesian carvings, the bird baths and reflection globes. Even the lawn gnomes. Meanwhile a couple of burly red-shirted guys were busy clearing out all the patio furniture to make way for, forgive me for saying it, Back To School stuff. Target has truly harshed my summer buzz.
It’s not even Fourth of July, Target managers. I haven’t even been to the beach yet. Haven't had my first taste of summer watermelon or nectarine. My first grilled burger. I've barely begun to enjoy the long amber-tinged evenings, the wearing of sandals, the scent of jasmine drifting in through the open window as I fall asleep. My first pedicure of the season is hardly showing any wear. I've almost no tan. I haven't even begun a trashy novel. What sort of insidious plot is this?
I vow not to set foot in a Target until at least the third week of August when Back To School will begin to seem like a light at the end of a long, hot, PS3 filled tunnel. Until then, there’s only one phrase more hated in our household than “back to school” and that’s “where’s the carpet cleaner?”