Canadians have Feelings about Target CLOSING Our Stores

Oh Target (pronounced Tarjay with a Quebec accent)…
Us Canadians aren’t really pleased with the one night stand you just pulled. We are a real country. With real feelings.
(We feel badly)
Though, we actually won’t be O.K. until we say “super sorry things didn’t work out here. ”

(Betrayed)
At first we were like, “ohhh Tarjay is coming. Tarjay loves us enough to move in (furnished!)!” And then, when you unpacked, it seemed you forgot some stuff. Like, inventory and low prices.
Even when you started to stink we probably apologized. But, we pulled up our big girl snow-pants and kept shopping.
Being with you was still acceptable, though not as often as you liked. Even when you lost our credit cards and put us in serious jeopardy, we still let your hands hold ours.
(We’re Determined)
This morning, as we rose from the warmth of our Waverly comforters you were gone. Or at least left a note (thank you, it means a lot)
Wham, bam you’re not that into us anymore? You’re leaving!? WHAT!? (Again, we’re sorry.)
(We’re Panicked)
No, it can’t be. It’s only been a few years.  It’ll be fine, just ask us nicely to shop, again. One more time. We’ll use cash!

(Now we feel Angry)

We aren’t disposable you know.
We gave up our beloved Zellers, which we’d now like back, thank you. And we want to take this moment to voice our public regret for cheating on them too. ( Sorry Zellers)
(It’s your fault, actually)
Many of us had made Target our Mecca, crossing dangerous borders to shop. Finding tantalizing items, not seen in our land. Amazing values, so insane (to us), we kindly bothered an associate to see if was a mistake, which we also apologized for.

So we begged you to come. We opened our hearts!
(Yelling)
Your colours ,( fine – we will spell it colors)  are the same as ours! Red and white, but now you’re blue? Should we have been loud and boisterous?

Trust me, amongst ourselves, in our journals we were steamed up! But now…oh now ,our pancakes are burning on the grill. YES next to BACK BACON. SO WHAT!!!
(Calming, and Embarrassed)
We didn’t mean to yell.
(A little anger left)
Fine. Go home. Be that way.
(Forgiveness)
It’s not the last time we’ll meet.
We don’t mind making the long distance relationship work, again.
Sorry you have to go. It will be hard to box up everything and admit defeat.
(Sarcasm)
It’s not that hard to pack, cause you barely brought anything to begin with.
Love Canada.

Re-Birthing New Excuses

There’s something brilliant on the market. I need one. Maybe twins.

No it’s not mail-order pool boys. It’s something much more…what’s the words, younger and not human.

Reborn “babies” are lifelike dolls made by professional artists, or anyone who can order parts and has months of do-it-yourself time carved out. They are so lifelike, some even have veins painted on for authenticity.

Now where it gets a tad odd, is grown women don’t just collect them, they adopt and care for the dolls as if they were real.Yup.

Maybe to some of the women, they are. It’s not up to me to be a classy asshole and say “Hey Lady, maybe a Dingo ate your real baby.” now is it.

If grown women want to care for, throw showers and spend thousands, so be it. In fact sometimes you have to look at the object you’re judging and decide if it’s not truly what you need.

In fact there is current research that the moms, until they cross a creepy line, benefit from the dolls. Some women have suffered great loss and find comfort. Other people are using the dolls in therapy for Alzheimer patients. It’s not a bad thing. Until you own twenty and quit speaking to live people.

I have three real children. And by real, I mean not a doll, or a fur baby. They are all out of diapers and sleep well through the night. I have zero plans of birthing or rescuing more. So why not a reborn baby. I choose everything from hair colour to age and it’s quieter than any other baby.

It’s also an amazing party trick. Now this may be my asshole part coming through. But again, I’m not mocking Reborn Moms. If they want to stroller a doll around town and feel like it’s real, I can’t tell them not to. But I can give other uses for a reborn doll if I want to.

Other useful purposes for a reborn doll

1.Muffin Top Shut Down

“Are you pregnant ?” common, daily question I’m asked.

“Why no!, I’ve already reborn my baby. He’s right here in my tote bag. Napping. Look”

Or…

2.Speeding Ticket

“M’am, you were speeding”

Immediately into reborn labour.

Officer runs. Ticket forgotten about

3.Bad Date

Date spends all his time checking his phone. When he finally looks up, you are breastfeeding your hungry reborn baby.

4.Carpooling

You can also get larger reborn dolls. Like toddler size. Stick ’em in the front seat.

5. Better Parking

You know the spots. For people with kids. Those are yours now.

6. Shuts your in-laws up.

Are you childless by choice. Sick of your mother-in-law’s constant nagging for an heir. Well, surprise her with a reborn grand-baby and forget to take it home. She’ll finally see what a bad mom you’d make.

So it’s really up to you to decide if you shall judge or join in the movement. At the very least you can’t blame people for what they collect, and honestly it’s better than a house full of cats.

I DO IT MYSELF (DIM)

I was born a Do-it Yourself-er before it was trendy.

My mom always says “Saturday’s child works hard for a living.” Guess what day I was born. I simply do things hard first, and again until I quit or learn. But rarely do I hire out for help or purchase what I in fact can’t do myself.

I’m extremely rigid with my inner DIY urge. Yet I have NO intention of doing the task properly by planning, measuring or researching. I assume I have an inner MacGyver talent. I don’t. This leads to a lot of things looking like a child got excited and ran with scissors.

My obsession with doing it myself doesn’t focus only on crafts, or home decor. If I needed dental surgery, you bet I would poke around in there with a thumb tack,mouth wash and makeup mirror first.

My top DIY offenses.

Sofa covers: I have, for years , made the stupid mistake of waltzing into a fabric store and setting my eyes on some durable yards of upholstery. I am unarmed of measurements or ideas of what I want it to look like. Most of my conversations with the ladies there go like this

Me: So, I need to make a couch cover.

Lady: How much fabric do you need?

Me: Enough to cover my couch.

Lady: OK…umm…what kind of fabric?

Me: Red seems hot this season.

Lady: Sounds…good. (slits wrist with some sort of sewing tool)

I will make it fit. I come home, see my ugly couch, knowing I will not measure, or sew for that matter, I grab a staple gun and some glue. I am built for this.

In about seven minutes I’m swearing, tweeking, and kicking. In the end (five hours), I have a red couch, with some hidden mistakes. But in the end I conquered. Until I sit. Just needs some more staples.

I still don’t buy a slipcover. Or couch for that matter.

Websites

I have built, designed, and cried over templates. When it says easy, free and 100’s of designs, you bet your ass I am clicking in to spend weeks on the title page. I’m not a graphic designer, tech savvy, computer literate woman. I simply saw an alternate route to handing it over. None of my websites have ever pleased me. In fact they have taken years off my life. The anger one can harbor from dealing with domain hosting transfers, and registration is enough to give me a pretty corpse.

Things that Actually Come with Instructions

Shelves, Medicine, Phones, etc.

When I see the little booklet of rules, I quite honestly turn a blind eye. I convince myself that no matter what, it can’t be so “rocket science” that they’d sell it to the general public.

How hard is a shelf to build. My phone? I’ve used one. Medicine? I’m pretty sure I will recognize the side effects when they happen, pop not one but two for good measure.

The maddening part, besides having a house full of haphazard attempts is that I never learn my lesson. Ever. I continue to whip up my own awful detergent that doesn’t even dissolve, because I likely missed a huge ingredient like soap. I make the kids cookies that are better off as weapons, and I up-cycle my wardrobe so that I look homeless and stuck in a time warp. But I can’t let it go, because as my Saturday sisters and brothers, we were  “born to work hard for a living.” Even that I have to do myself, and add “without reward” to the end.