The more I buy, the more I’m needing

Target and Costco. The yin and yang of commercial success. One caters to those in love with shiny little knickknacks and dorm furniture, while the other does well with those stocking the pantry for the impending good vs. evil Armageddon scenario that Hollywood and Faux News keeps regurgitating.
For some reason, the second I walk into either of those stores, I immediately lose all ability to adhere to any coherent shopping list. My brain falls out and I walk around like a zombie with a credit card.
Even driving on El Camino Real, I feel that tug of fiscal irresponsibility flow over me and I sneak a glance at the big red Target logo. It leers at me, then grins with slow satisfaction at my inability to shun its advances. I can’t fight the overwhelming power it has over my ever-dwindling bank account.
On a side note: I honestly can’t think of one time I actually said to myself, “Ya know, I should stop by Target and pick up some candles.” But for some reason, whenever I leave the place, I indeed have another set of decorative candles. I don’t even have matches or own a lighter, but I have 17 waxy fire hazards in a variety of scents and stylish glassware. Please help.
I’d be a tactless boob not to also mention the tragically hip T-shirts that entertain those around you with snarky little sayings like, “Your village called. Their idiot is missing.” I actually bought that shirt at Target. I can only assume I was drinking when I purchased it, because I have no memory of buying it.
But for true American consumerism at its nauseating pinnacle, I’d have to say Costco is the route to go.
Costco is the place where the term “overindulgence” is a mere whisper in the wind. You can purchase a 14-year supply of toilet paper, pallets of soda, or vats of mayo if that type of thing tickles your nickle.
For some reason I have really weird daydreams when I’m shuffling through the aisles at Costco. Like post-apocalyptic tribes firing arrows from top of the gigantic shelves, and roving hordes protecting the various meats and deli cheese slabs you can purchase there. A sort of Mad Max for the bulk culinary crowd.
I’m coming to the slow realization that I’m sure many of you have also come to. I have accumulated way too much crap. Too many trips to the store without a purpose and sheer boredom as a catalyst for my shopping trip. Too many times have I slid my debit card through the checkout device so as to bring home my useless booty.
But then again, that’s what makes this country great. We have the option to buy 400 frozen burritos at a time if we want. 
I only feel slightly guilty when I lie about having a teenage son while buying Wii games for myself.
So I say go. Go about your shopping adventures. 
Run the magnetic strip off your frail, mauled credit card. Haggle, wheel and deal. Go to TJ Maxx and buy a $15 Hawaiian shirt you’ll never wear twice. Go forth and purchase like your credit limit is just a suggestion.
Oh, but if you do buy those burritos, I suggest the three-gallon jug of Pepto. And the lifetime of toilet paper too. Just in case.

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