Lost in the Land of Plenty

On Sunday, I lost Tiffany in a Target store.

We love our Target trips. I'm not sure why this is, exactly. I think it has something to do with the size of the aisles. In the city, we shop in stores with teensy aisles so that by the time we're done shopping I have a horrible case of aisle-rage.

"What are you making that face for?" Tiffany will ask.

"That woman just ran over my toe with her cart!" I'll hiss.

I don't know why they even allow full-sized carts in city-sized stores. Everyone should be required to carry a basket, the way sensible people like us do, or to push a child-sized cart.

But in Target, where we go for things like gigantic packs of toilet paper and Irish Spring soap, the aisles are so big that even Tiffany and I get a cart. We push it around without a care in the world--except for the time I accidentally clipped her heel and she didn't speak to me the rest of the trip--traversing aisles we have no business going down.

"Someday we'll need this stuff," I said longingly on Sunday, as I rolled down the pet toy aisle.

"Oh god," Tiffany said, shoving me off the cart. "Don't get carried away."

Then she got carried away, wheeling us straight for home furnishings to lust after throw pillows.

Anyway. Back to the point--which can be hard for me to follow in a Target store as well--I lost Tiffany in the clothes racks.

We happen to be about the same height as the clothes racks. We are also exactly the same height as each other. (Actually, I'm about an eighth-inch taller than Tiffany even on flat hair days.) But since Tiffany reads my blog, we are exactly the same height. What happens is, once we disappear into the racks, we disappear from view entirely.

I turned around for only a second to consider a pair of rubber rain boots I didn't need, and, when I turned back, Tiffany was gone.

"Tiffany?" I called.

Nothing.

"Tiffany?" I stage-whispered, standing on my tiptoes.

A few taller people stared. I could tell they were considering whether I was young enough to be on my own, so I made a u-turn in the gigantic aisle and pushed our cart into the narrower spaces between the racks.

When you're small, you should wait for your parents to come find you. When you're 29 1/3 years old, feel free to go after your lost half.

I found Tiffany a few minutes later, just behind a sale sign and a shelf stacked high with t-shirts.

"Do I need any more t-shirts?" she asked, feverish.

The answer was no. But Target, my friends, is for yesses.

"I don't think you have the tangerine color," I said. "Go ahead, grab a few. I'll be staring at the flat screen TVs we're not ready to buy yet."