Target, we called you, with mock-pretension, by the French pronunciation as if you were the chic boutique instead of box store a step above Wal-Mart.
Target, I considered you a valuable field trip throughout both my maternity leaves and a fun outing at least once a week, every summer.
Target, your jewelry always gets flattering comments and inquiries as to its origin, as if it were hand-beaded by a skilled artisan and not someone in a factory in Korea.
Target, your Moxie chocolate and I, we get along all too well.
Target, my children are often dressed head to toe in your Circo or Osh-Kosh or Cherokee clothes, and I adore the no-brainer, mix-n-matchiness of your tables full of $4 pants and shirts.
Learn the alphabet.
Don't worry, Target. Ellie doesn't know her ABC's yet either.