Have you ever walked into Target, caught a glimpse of yourself on the security cam and realized that your entire outfit came from there? Your tank top, capris, bejeweled flip-flops, even your underwear were purchased at Target. Your lotion, make-up, deodorant and the Van’s frozen gluten-free waffle that you shoved in your face that morning came from Target, which means you literally have a piece of Target inside of you. You’re certain that when you push your red cart up to aisle 8, the cashier is going to grab you by the belt hook, swipe your ass across the scanner and announce, “You saved $2.08 with Cartwheel today!”
Well, that didn’t happen to me yesterday. I didn’t even go to Target. I went to a salon where a trained professional cut and colored my hair. Having my hair washed was such an intimate experience that I almost asked her to cuddle afterward. It’s been years since I didn’t have to worry about getting hair dye on my walls or forget to wash it off behind my ears. As I sipped my orange-essence water and indulged in the debauchery of People Magazine, I realized how long it had been since I did something special for myself. I’ve had dark brown hair for years and when I saw my new highlights, I felt a heaviness lift.
I’m a consumer in Babylon (or Target-ylon) and I feel guilty for living a life of middle class privilege while people starve each day. I don’t know how to reconcile my desire to do good in the world with my desire to have a comfortable life. But, man oh man, it feels good to be a girl sometimes.
When mama feels bright and shiny, everyone mama takes care of feels bright and shiny too.