they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

A tisket a tasket

I walked right past the shopping baskets at Target last Saturday. I didn’t need one, I thought. I strutted by them, with my hands free to browse the cosmetics and dog toys and I even turned my nose up at one of those manageable, red carrying baskets. I was on a mission to shop basket-free and darn it, I was going to complete my mission. I had a short list, too, which meant a basket would have been too big and empty and maybe someone else would have really needed it and I would have taken the last one.

So, I started down the aisles, grabbing eyeliner and a paddle brush and a tooth brush and paper towels and lotion and by the time I decided that I also needed to shop the clothing department, my hands and arms were full and I was a walking disaster. And that’s when it happened. I spotted a red hand-held basket at my feet. “How convenient,” I thought. I dumped my mega-load into the red life-saving, carry-all basket and bent down to pick it up. But, it wouldn’t move. It appeared to be bolted down to the metal frame it was sitting in. “This can’t be,” I thought. “There is no way I’m that stupid.”

So, I proceeded to attempt to pull the basket loose but only ended up bending its metal frame. Then, the horror set in. I had actually been trying to break the basket receptacle. It wasn’t a convenience that there was one basket left on the stand in my aisle. It was a trick. And that trick had all of my things in it and people were looking as they walked by and I must have looked like a crazy idiot and so I did what anyone else would have done. I left — but only for a minute. I went and found a real red basket and I looked around to assure the least amount of people would see what I was about to do and then, I walked right back up to the basket stand and one-by-one, took my items from the stand and put them in my basket. Granted, I was shaking and sweating and nervous and was, of course, worrying too much about what everyone else must have been thinking. And as soon as all of my goods were in a proper holding bin, I darted away from that cursed aisle as fast as humanly possible.

So, next time you go to Target and try to get that coveted last hand-held basket, beware, it’s probably already been taken. And if you try what I did, I’m sure security will get a good laugh at you, too.


  • At 9:48 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    I wanted to thank you for some entertaining reading. I picked up your blog address from an email you sent to the Mizzou Mafia listserv; I too am an MU J-School grad. I was interested in the link because I recently considered opening my own blog. Nevertheless, I found yours to be a pleasant slice of life. Keep it coming.

  • At 8:00 AM, Blogger Pensive Girl said…

    I'm glad you found it. Thank you so much for the encouraging words. If you do start a blog, let me know.

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