At first, I was patient. I thought I broke it off easy with you, and I figured you’d get over me eventually. But this? This is ridiculous, and it has to stop.
I can’t take your letters anymore. You fawn over me, saying things like “you deserve this” and “you would be a fool to pass this up.” A fool to pass up what? A life of woe where I’d owe you for all my days? Forget that, Visa. You’re wasting trees and time with your continual advances.
You’re like a sly little skirt-chaser who’s only after your own gain. You don’t care a whit about me or my feelings. You try to lure me in with flowery phrases, trying to make me feel special and “pre-approved.” But you know what you are? You’re a slippery little don juan and all you want is to take me for all I’m worth and break my heart… and my bank account.
I know your kind. Mastercard, Capital One… you’re all the same. I won’t fall for your wily wicked ways. No not me. Not again. I’m a grown woman, and I’ll live within my means, thank you very much.
I don’t owe you a thing, and my junk mail bin is getting full. Go and find yourself another woman to entice.
the frustrated mail-sorter