Dear Black Friday,

Fuck you. I refuse to acknowledge you. My local suburban mall is already overrun with upper middle class tweens and trophywives and I will not spend my day weaving in and out of their clusterfucks.

I don't even get that much joy out of shopping anymore. I just want to buy a really amazing hobo international clutch on the Internet, have it delivered to my door, and carry it around (in combination with giant sunglasses, skinny jeans, pointy flats, and shiny hair) while people tell me how fashionable I am. Is that so much to ask?

Love,
A