Oh dear Target. My heart is heavy. I have to confess. I’ve been unfaithful.

It’s not my fault. I tried to make us work. We’ve been together for such a long time. But in the end, I had no choice. Tide, Eggos, Lucky Charms and those awesome frozen, steam in a bag, veggies are cheaper some place else.

It pains me to say this. You know how I feel about you. And I can’t really complain. Your prices are almost there. But in these times, every dollar saved is truly a dollar earned.

Dear Target, you know that you offer too many extras for me to really save any money. It’s true that your waffles are $1 less than the grocery store where I buy my sliced turkey. But when I throw in the cool, old school T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants….well, you get it.

You have this effect on me. On everyone. When we are together, I can’t see straight. Simple lists expand. Dollar signs multiply. I can’t resist.

I remember our first time together. It was years ago. I didn’t understand why everyone smiled when they spoke your name. The aphrodisiac effect you had. One afternoon, I ventured out to see for myself. It was love at first sight.

You’ve been there through some pretty big transitions. When we bought our home. Welcomed our babies. But it was not always easy. In the beginning, I had to drive out of my five mile radius to reach you. There were periods I longed for you. Yet I just couldn’t make it over.

But then, you opened in my backyard. With a refrigerator and freezer section. And that addition, dear Target, was your greatest downfall.

At that moment, the sky was really bluer. The air was truly cleaner. I couldn’t get enough.

Monthly visits turned to weekly which slowly turned into more. I vowed to split my grocery list to guarantee us more time together. You became my household staple items’ sure thing. I knew my shopping experience would be enriched and more pleasurable if I had the chance to cruise through the boy’s clothes, lip gloss, and hair products on my way to the milk and yogurt.

You never broke the bank, but you made me frivolous. And in my own way, I justified the need for every little extra. But times have changed. It pains me to say this. We need to take a break.

Right now, my dear Target, I need two gallons of milk a week. Multiple cereal boxes. Lunchbox snacks galore. And with the economy the way it is, well, you’re just not good for me. Perhaps if I was a stronger woman, I could head directly to the pasta and paper towels. But I can’t. You tempt me at every aisle. Sadly, I’m not tough enough to resist.

Please know that I am not emotionally involved with my new superstore. When I pull into its parking lot, I don’t feel happy. There’s no gait in my step as I approach the big, sliding glass doors. No more butterflies in my stomach as I anticipate the walk past the trendy, hot designers-on-a-dime handbags. It’s purely dollars and cents.

You’ll be OK. Move on quickly. There are plenty of others to fill my shoes. As for me, I’ll think of you often as I exit the Beltline and see your bright logo. I’ll not shed a tear as I thumb through your catalogs.

I just hope you remember me when I’m ready to come back.

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.