Me: “That’s hurtful, Amazon.”
Amazon: “I learned it by watching YOU!”
I just remembered my parents gave me an Amazon gift card for Christmas, so I’m sure they’d be thrilled to know I’m using it to buy a copy of The Bell Jar.
Also ordered The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck, which, oddly, will likely instruct me to spend less time with my parents. (“Keep only the things that spark joy” was the original premise, so…)
With a forthcoming show about women working at Newsweek in the ’70s, I’m even MORE excited to be getting Amazon Prime today for a mere $67.
I’m spending the day with my family.
Perhaps this is just coincidence, but I’m also repopulating my entire Amazon wishlist with Xanax and bourbon.
Normally the Internet is one of my favorite things, but sometimes it can be kind of an asshole.
Like when I ask Amazon to send me a book about being child-free because it’s written by a comedian I’m currently obsessed with (Jen Kirkman — ladies, go watch her Netflix special. Gentlemen, sorry, no guarantees). So I’m mostly reading it because it’s a book by a funny woman — I’d read whatever book she wrote, but this one happens to be about not having kids.
But then Amazon’s all, “Oh, hey! I see you like books about being a Barreness. HERE ARE 600 MORE books about it!”
I’m good, Amazon, really. I don’t need THAT much support. Thanks, though.
(My personal favorite was when I bought the clutter book, and Amazon was like, “Would you like us to send you a shit-ton of other books about clutter?” YOU’RE NOT HELPING, AMAZON!)