I don't like credit card companies, though I do have two credit cards. (I find them to be something of a necessary convenience, something I could write an essay to explain at some time that is not right now . . .)
This is why: they mock me. I don't get any mail, with the exception of the gas and utilities bills, at my apartment. No cards or letters or anything real--because I didn't want to forward my mail from my parents' house when I still come home for dinner practically every Sunday.
They mock me, because I come home and see stacks of mail. And I get excited. Only to find that 96% (this is an exact statistic) of those envelopes are evil-demon credit card offers.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
What is your address, my friend? I want to write you a letter and send it to you. (E-mail it to me, rather than post it here, if you prefer.)
Do you, by the way, still want to be my pen pal when I leave for Australia?
Post a Comment