Dear Bitches Who Work At Boutiques,

You people are sluts. You irritate me tremedously. Why is it your staple move to eye me up and down when I walk into your store to determine whether I'm worth helping? Guess what, my father makes money. A shit ton of money. Do I ask for any of it? No. And that's beside the point.

Just because 90% of my clothes are from Target and I don't wear David Yurman jewelry (even if I could afford it, I wouldn't wear it anyway because that shit is ugly) does not mean you need to make me feel judged. Hey whores, you know what I do? I educate myself and I'm in the midst of working toward a graduate degree. Do you know what a degree is? Oh right, you don't. And I'm better than you. Did I say that yet?

So, if you could kindly assist me in selecting a pair of $160 jeans I would greatly appreciate it. Sure, they will be the only pair of pants I purchase this season, but my ass will look just as good in designer jeans as yours so get off me.

And don't even fucking act like you could afford that wardrobe without your 75% off employee discount.

I don't even know why I'm bothering to say this. You fold jeans as a career. Enough Said.

Not Cleaning My Clothes Out Of The Dressing Room Just To Piss You Off,
A