Swimsuit Shopping

Three hours at Target. I didn’t plan to spend so much time there. What I typically say to myself after a Target run is I didn’t plan to spend so much money there.

When the kids were younger, I’d put them in the cart, stop at the snack bar, order a bag of popcorn, and speed walk down the aisles grabbing what I needed, a little of what I didn’t, and maybe a little something for myself. A bottle of wine strategically placed on an end cap or a new notebook. Later, I dropped off the oldest in the LEGO aisle, speed walked with little sis in the cart, bag of popcorn in tow, and picked him up on the way to the checkout lane.

Yesterday, I’m the one who needed a bag of popcorn and a bottle of wine. Three hours! Swimsuit shopping. Little is now thirteen and she scored a dressing room while a line of hopeful weekend Target shoppers patiently waited their turns. The downside to big box shopping is no one runs to get more outfits in different sizes for you. That was my job.

I found the dressing room stall she took over. She let me in to see one option. “The bottoms are weird.”

Sure enough, they were weird. Too much fabric was missing. “You’re not adult enough to wear that, no ma’am. I’m not adult enough to wear that!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, but the top is cute.”

I stepped out to wait and out flew empty hangers, tops, bottoms, and a request for more. “Can you please bring me something bright, but NOT anything neon colored. Maybe something neutral that will suit my skin tone.”

Oh for the love of summer! There weren’t many other options. “You hate florals, so I don’t know what else you want.”

“Just pick something. If I get out of here, someone else will take my spot and I’ll have to get in line and wait all over again.”

I return to the massive swimsuit section to hunt for muted tones. I selected florals with neutral backgrounds. On purpose, along with some abstract prints. With spring break a week away, maybe that’s why everyone was shopping for swimwear. It could also be because all swimwear tends to disappear by April. Get it now or try to squeeze into last year’s swimsuits, if they still fit.

Knocking on the door, I offer a pile of four more swimsuits. “These aren’t quite your style, but you might like them once you’ve tried them on.”

“Ummm, I said no neon colors. I want something bright.”

“You said neutrals.”

“Well, neutral brights.”

I decided not to go where my brain wanted to go, we’re in public.

She hands back everything I brought without trying them on. “Never mind. I’ll take a look myself and get back in line.”

“There’s no line. It must come in waves and it’s calmed down now.”

I take the hangers and get them in order. The two teens working the dressing room looked exasperated. We’re heading back, so I decide to put them back myself.

There are two more possibilities from a wall of options. She heads back to the dressing room and I go back to my shopping list. I haven’t gotten anything I meant to get. I’m in the gardening section when I get a message.

“Where r u? Mom? Mom? Mommy!?”

She finds me and plops into the cart a hoodie, a pair of yoga pants, another swimsuit, and a pair of silver hoop earrings. She makes her way toward a bunny Squishmallow plush toy in the holiday section.

“I have a gift card,” she grins.

“With fifteen dollars left on it! You have two swimsuits in here. They’re priced by the piece,” I explain. “How much is that one top?”

“Eighteen.”

“And what do you plan to wear on your bottom half?”

We discussed options, chores, the gift card, homework, and more chores.

“I’ll meet you at the checkout lane,” I call, as she heads back to return most of what she thought she was getting.

Three hours. One swimsuit. Hoop earrings. A Pusheen hoodie. Pruning shears and some odds and ends I needed.

Target runs seemed so much easier when I stopped to buy popcorn.