For my wife, and only for her, I visited the mall to buy a gift certificate for a nephew. The target store was the one that sports the semi-nude pre-pubescent models in ads. You know, the clothes catalog that comes in the brown paper bag.
I took my oldest. I hugged her afterward to let her know that I still love her and that I’ll never let her shop there or aspire to be like anyone there.
My first experience in the store and one of the sales girls literally walked away from us. Make that ran and hid.
They make you navigate the entire store to find the checkout area. And these teen-to-early-20 clerks look at you like you’re a pariah, something out of "Night of the Living Uncool."
I, of course, was helped by the only person of color working – or shopping – in the store. And he had a lot of cream in his coffee, if you know what I mean. The look of disgust at accepting my credit card made me cringe.
My nightmare is having to explain this phenomenon to my kids. My 3-year-old is already disturbed because she doesn’t have blond hair. I’ve sort of talked my older one out of the desire to have blond hair.
At least, at this point anyway, I’m not worrying about their eating habits.