I mean…I guess it’s convenient that I can have groceries or pizza delivered right along with someone named Leah?
Honestly, Leah, even if I had the appropriate gear you’re asking for, I have to say I’m not really the “any will do” type.
Dear Yahoo mail and the Gloria Coopers of the world (I assume she’s the madam in this case?)…still not a dude.
What the actual fuck.
PS: Dear Instacart,
Stop enabling my laziness, you terrible siren song of convenience. Next time I have an I’m-crabby-bring-me-chocolate-or-die craving and can’t bother to put on pants*, I’m looking you up, with a note saying just knock and leave groceries outside the door, because I still can’t be bothered to pants. Thanks!
*You probably think this mood is too specific to occur often. You are wrong.
No Pithy Phrase 