i should hope that at the end of my life, i will have lived significantly enough that there will be some sort of lovely memorial which stands in my name. i envision perhaps a bench on campus under a shady tree on the south oval, maybe a pair of bronzed pumps in the shoetopia store window. however, i feel certain that if i were to pass on tomorrow, i know exactly what my life's work will have earned me - the dedication of a shiny new shopping cart at the store i always seem to find my way back to: target.

walmart is definitely the place to go in norman. be it 2 in the afternoon or 2 in the morning, a trip to walmart is always an occasion which involves, at the very least, the application of lipstick and a moderately decent outfit. the mega-super walmart on the west side of town guarantees that you will see at least three or four of your closest friends upon visiting, while the old school walmart on the east side of town has offered my buddies multiple OU football player celebrity sightings.

however, no matter how old and grown up we get, it seems that some of life's lessons simply cannot be forgotten. and one particular lesson that has stuck with me as i've moved away from home and progressed through college is my mother's disdain of walmart. referring to it as the "dirty flea market," mom would make a trip to walmart only under severe emergencies and life-threatening crises. when lauren and i were in elementary school, we had hamsters whose cage parts could only be purchased at our local walmart. so what happened? goodbye hamsters, hello puppy.

target, however, was "like walmart, with class." a trip to target, and there was always at least one per week, was practically a family event. even after leaving home, the bright lights, the clean aisles, and the happy red carts always seem to draw me back.

this week, i made a trip to the norman target for a few essentials. i quickly isolated a 12-pack of diet coke. after a good fifteen minutes of wandering through the store, i realized i had no idea where the toilet paper was located. finally, with some friendly target assistance, i found myself face to face with a multitude of toilet paper varieties and the realization that i had Never Ever Yet purchased this lovely little necessity. i struggled. i priced. i read comparisons. resisting the urge to consult mom on this oh-so-important decision, i decided to do what any other logical person would do and just pick my favorite toilet paper mascot. never a big fan of babies, several brands were quickly eliminated. then i noticed the cottonelle, which had an adorable little puppy. perfect. i like puppies. therefore, i like cottonelle. i hefted my diet coke under one arm, my puppy-adorned toilet paper under the other, and set off across target for my final stop.

i strolled down the drug aisle, past the advil and tylenol to the new little pill that's getting me through the day: claritin. i picked up the claritin. i set down the claritin. i picked up the target brand claritin. although i had been unwilling to compromise on quality name brand toilet paper, i was definitely ready to risk my health with questionable medication. i made a diet coke, toilet paper, and allergy medication stack and headed for the checkout.

target, the unloved stepchild of norman department stores, is usually a safe place to make such unglamorous purchases. yet on the way to the checkout, i saw a professor, a group of sorority sisters, and Hot Boy from my genocide class. and they saw me, cowering behind a tower of diet coke, toilet paper, and medicine for my seasonal allergies.

goodbye self respect and reputation, hello humiliation and public shame.

and goodbye target, hello walmart.