I studied abroad in Spain the first half of my junior year and after a jet lag interrupted evening of sleep my first night back stateside, I woke up early and immediately drove to Target. Target, how I love thee. And each time I have gone back down South from NYC, visiting the megastore is tops on my agenda. There is something unbelievably cathartic about strolling through the aisles- cookware, here I come!, mulling over purchases- do I really need a plastic dinosaur from the dollar bin?, and navigating the labyrinth of cds, dvds, and magazines. So after much armtwisting and incessant pleas, my dear friends carted me to my mecca, and we freely roamed like grazing cattle looking for the green grass. Whenever this group of gals gets together, we have this phrase that is usually announced to the entire crew many a time over any given evening: "I am in the green." This past weekend with my nearest and dearest, a leisurely saunter through Target, and enough fistfuls of puppy chow to seriously upset my digestive tract, the grass was never greener than it was there.
Now I'm off to blot my eyes, truth be told, not so much from nostalgia, but because I have stared at the computer screen for too many hours today. Where's Ben Stein when you need him?
Bueller...Bueller...
