Going to Target Stoned

The Problem with Shopping at Target while Stoned

I went to Target this morning to pick up a few things. I needed:

  1. syrup for coffee
  2. coffee beans
  3. milk
  4. eggs
  5. yogurt

I made sure to be mega stoned beforehand, because I hate shopping, and running into people, and making small talk. An introvert with a hideous case of social anxiety- that’s me.

How long would that trip take a normal person? I don’t know. I found myself examining a product called “the selfie kit”. I stared at phones, though I don’t need a phone, and in fact am waiting for my new phone (it bends). Putting away all the bags of items I came home with, I find $30 in obscure drugstore makeup. I had remembered that I needed cotton balls, which are conveniently located by the makeup.

I could have examined things in Target all morning. I do this regularly, though rarely on a school day. On my magical childless weekends I like to get really stoned (often with the BFF) and do the weeks shopping. My husband has learned not to worry when hour three goes by and he hasn’t heard from me. After many years of bringing the kids with me to do the shopping, I finally have freedom in my schedule to do it alone. Shopping with kids SUCKS. It just does. It flat-out sucks. Forget taking your time making any sort of decision, Debit card in hand, you race through the store playing the “how much longer until meltdown? How much long until they’ve had it? How much longer until they pee their pants?” game. Oh you haven’t played that game? Why don’t you borrow a three-year old and try it out.

Back home in the kitchen I  unpack binder paper for… I don’t know what. And what am I going to do with this bag of mini pumpkins? There are new hair accessories to put away. I inspect the tripod I ended up bringing home (a tripod! from Target!). Put away the new bags of chips and way more yogurt than my family normally consumes (it’s the official food of women), I finish up, tidy the counters. The animals are playing with their new toys, courtesy of their stoner mom. Let’s see, two more hours before I get the girls from school. I head upstairs. I have lots of new nail polish to try.


The Stoner Mom is a pulled-together, WAHM, SAHM, boo-boo kissing supermom. Most would assume she is not stoned. Most would be quite wrong.