I have one of the guiltiest of pleasures that I must disclose to you, Tacoma.



Sometimes I’m naughty and don’t always Go Local.



Please allow me to step into the I-support-a-big-box confessional:



Just last week I headed into Target, yes, Target, with some simple, inexpensive goals.

All I needed to get was a new hair dryer because mine went caput, I wanted some cheap and cozy new underwear, and I needed to get new bras because I’ve been in denial that my boobs have actually gotten bigger.



Instead, the marketing monger that’s commonly known as Target got the best of me, just like it always does.



What should’ve been a cheap visit wound up coming in at a $300 throw-down.

I ultimately do it to myself, though.



There’s nothing more blissful than walking down any one of Target’s trinket aisles, tossing all forms of necessary and unnecessary items into that fabulous red shopping cart.



So what did I get for $300? Fifty dollars worth of silver jewelry that I really didn’t need, but which looks so damn cute; several pairs of new work pants, summer dresses, cinnamon toothpaste; far too many pairs of undies, the most expensive hair dryer on the shelf, new makeup and those damn bras, too.



But that doesn’t beat the time that I wound up with Spanish and guitar CD-ROM sets that I still haven’t put to use, random s*** for the fireplace, and, of course, the Elton John box set.

Gawd, keep me away from the entire Gilmore Girls series that’s for sale.



What I’m trying to explain is that Target puts this retail trance on me unlike those I’ve experienced anywhere else.



This trance outright forces me to spend WAY more money than I ever wanted to, and it convinces me that I really do want and need all of this complete crap that I’m excited about right when I get home but forget about for the rest of my life.



THAT’S why Target is SOOOO the Scene of the Crime.



Even worse than a trance, Target is freakin’ addictive, right down to the Orville Redenbacher popcorn scent that suckers me in every time.



I always laugh when the wonderful checkout clerks ask me if I’d like to start a Target Visa account to save 10 percent. My response to this question is simple:



I already have one of those cards and it’s ruining my life.



With the attention-deficit items that I’ve mentioned so far, you can only imagine what I’ve bought on that credit card.



I swear that one of these years I’m going to get focused, organized and I’ll pay that card off.

Until then, I’ll still be really grateful for those freakin’ smelly candles, my egg slicer, those hair ties that always break, the plants that I’ve killed time and time again, and my meditation statue.



Thank you, Target (I think).