In honor of Valentine's Day (which I think is a ridiculous holiday, incidentally), I am going to post about something that's very close to my heart. Something I just adore, and can't get enough of.
That object of my affection, darling readers, is Kohls.
I love Kohls the way most of the women I've encountered out here in Blogger Land love Target. And from what I've read, that's a WHOLE lotta love.
I love most of their Croft & Barrow line for casual clothes. I love the fact that I can find cheap, comfy jeans that fit me really well (Levi's bootcut). I love their home decor department and usually have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, out of there. I love their jewelry department, which carries the cutest, cheapest earrings ever (I'm partial to the Apt. 9 brand, which is a cheaper version of Nine West). I'm even starting to love their new cosmetics department.
And, of course, I love the fact that there seems to be a sale there every other frickin' day. Which begs the question, if everything's always on sale...is it REALLY a sale? Or are the prices marked way up artificially, just to make it seem like a bargain when you get everything for 50% off the original price?
It doesn't matter, though. As soon as I wander through those double doors, all of my skepticism just fades away. My pupils dilate. My heart rate increases. I become deaf to any and all background noise. In fact, I may even begin to twitch, however imperceptibly. I enter the Kohls Zone. That means that even though I may have come to buy just a few things -- a couple of bras, a few pairs of socks, or a gift for a coworker's new baby -- I get to the register and wind up spending no less than $100.
I was not always a Kohls lover. Oh, no. In fact, until I got married, I hardly ever went to the place. I just wasn't into it, I guess. But after the wedding, and after moving to a semi-rural area where Kohls was the only retail store in close proximity to our house, I got hooked. Most of the time, I shop there by myself, like an addict who's trying desperately to conceal her dirty little habit. And when I've been a particularly bad girl there, I keep my gray bags of goodies buried in the backseat of my car, waiting until my husband is out before dragging them into the house and gloating over all the deals I've scored. Oh, the shame!
And this is one vice that I just don't think I'll be able to kick.
In My Head
