Dear Kiosk Workers At The Mall,

Stop accosting me with you lotions, flying helicopters, and chamois. No, I do not want my ring cleaned, my hair straightened, or my nails buffed. Please leave me in peace to carelessly spend every last cent of my money in a desperate attempt to ignore the fact that my parents are trying to throw me in the middle of the loveless dustcloud of misery and tumult they call a marriage.

Thanks, but get off me. At least I'm coping through healthier outlets (literally) this weekend instead of my usual binge-drinking followed by self-loathing routine. If they're not going to make progress, I will (yay for 'Sober October'!!!), but my debit card may take a beating.

Love,
A