Dear Target Gods,
I am writing this post in hopes of making amends for my previous one. My previous post was written in haste and is a severe mis-judgement of Target's superiority. In fact, I'd been meaning to correct myself on this very issue. Turns out, after prolonged exposure to your cereal bars, I can't get enough. To think that anything hailing from your magnificent corporation would not provoke such feelings is a gross fallacy. I should have known. I should have waited. I should have eaten more cereal bars. I should have trusted. I suppose you know what sparked this retraction, as it was an event sent from your own hands. My sister's dream. To refresh your memory, from the mouth of the victim:
I had a dream last night that I think came from the angry Target Gods. I was coming out of Target after buying a valentine card for Adam. A huge gang of scary punk rockers started following me. Two girls came up and tried to steal my purse but I talked them out of it. Then I ran to my car and they all started climbing on my car, I had to drive crazy to throw them off the car. I might have hit a couple of them too. I haven't been to Target for more than a month. I feel a little guilty.
Now, I've never dealt with you in quite this way before but I'm assuming, from this dream stunt, that you operate a bit like karma. And you're making your way back to me. Through those I love. I get it. I get this. I get you. And I'll get mine. But please, I beg you, forgive my foolishness. And leave the unconscious of my loved ones to their rightful fate of sunflowers, Forever 21 and reunions in Tahoe and leave the punk rockers and vehicular manslaughter out of this. I love you, Target. But I don't have to like you right now.