Oh, I love Target. I don’t care if it’s considered cheap stuff, I don’t care if the designer-savvy look their noses down on it. I love it I love it I love it. I love that it’s red, I love the stupid bullseye, and I especially love that even though I only go a small handful of times per year I always get the best stuff: paisley bedding, gorgeous frames, funky tees and kiwi-scented wipes for my dog, which he hates but of course, I love.
Sandy has never been to Target, but has plenty heard me talking about it. This was his inaugural trip, and I knew I’d struck a vein all of ten minutes after we’d walked in, and the cart was full of clothes for him, clothes for his son, clothes for the rest of his family and of course, car stuff and some snacks.
He: Cheech! Look at this awesome winter coat! It’s sixty dollars! Sixty dollars! What the heck is that all about?
Me: Wow, that looks great on you!
He: Did I mention it’s sixty dollars? For a dressy coat? Sixty dollars?
Me: Yeah, I caught that bit already…
He: Cheech! Sixty dollars! This is just the best store ever!
Etc. We were there ‘til they kicked us out at 11pm, at which point we threw our (multitude of) bags into the backseat and hightailed out. Bit of advice: Power shopping with a Mini Cooper is not the wisest thing in the world to do, but still very doable when absolutely necessary.
We are on the road, it is close to midnight and we are tired, so the time is right to look for somewhere to sleep. Most unfortunately, the only place available within the next 40 miles is the Red Knight Motel, personified by a masked & shielded knight in full body armor on the dimly lit sign.
We knew that the Red Knight Motel wasn’t exactly luxury accommodation - places that come with $10 off coupons rarely are – but we just wanted a bed to crash in for five or six hours, and free parking for Joey, so we took the plunge.
When you walk into a motel room and the very first thing you see is a burn on the carpet the exact size and shape of an iron, it’s usually not a good sign. Neither are the cobwebs under the chairs, the brown stains baked into the bathroom linoleum, or that really strange plastic smell permeating just about everything. We were half expecting a dead hooker in the closet but thankfully, that was nonexistent.
When in such questionable surroundings, it is fortunate to be in possession of alcohol. We had alcohol. Sandy cracked open those mini wines he’d purchased at the liquor barn, and we sucked down the lot along with our dinner of those vine leaf rice rolls, asiago crackers, and chocolate covered pretzel sticks.
Me: Fuck, this is good wine.
He: I know!
Me: More, please. I don’t want to remember this room.
He: Bottoms up...
After drunkenly giggling our way through the mediocrity of our surroundings, then showers in the cracked tub (taking care not to use the stinky motel soap, I might add), we got ready for bed. This normally doesn’t consist of pulling a bedspread off with ice bucket tongs and then tossing it to the floor, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Sandy looked at the bedspread, then at me and said, “Aren’t you going to be cold?”
Me: Yes. This blanket is paper thin.
He: Why don’t you cover yourself with the bedspread too?
Me: I don’t want to touch it.
He: Are we supposed to huddle together for body heat then?
Me: Okay!
He climbed into the double bed, then we wrapped our arms around each other and slept like babies. He’s just the best boyfriend ever.
1 comment:
I wish I had never been to Target just so I could go again for the first time. I am, however, glad I have never been to the Red Knight Inn.
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