An open letter to the lady in line in front of me at Walgreens,

I saw you pull up in your brand new Lexus (the temporary plates were a dead give away). I was the girl who pulled in beside you that you ignored. Fine. We wound up in line together. Don't think I didn't notice the Manolo Blahniks shoes, the Versace coat and the Loius Vuitton purse (from the pastel collection, even). I was the one with the same pair of Armani glasses on.
I was also the one who watched you put down 2 Red Bull energy drinks, and bitch out the cashier because they were supposedly 70 cents off. They weren't.
Yup. That's me. I was the cute little college chick in the middle of finals, who just ran out of caffeine and refined sugar. I was the one with the blue jelly bracelets up my arm, and the pissed off look on her face.
I was the one who watched you bitch at a cashier over $1.40 when your purse costs more than I make in a month. I was also the one who slammed that $1.40 down on the counter and told you to shut the fuck up.
Yup. That was me.
Here's my suggestion. You need a hobby. Apparently, you don't have enough things to do with your twelve billion dollars than torment the poor cashier at Walgreens. It was A DOLLAR FORTY. I make $6.11 an hour and even I realize, this is not a big deal.
I need you to find something more creative to do with your money.
If you can't, I need you to give it to me.
Because honestly, you kinda make me want to vomit.
Please keep your Chanel No.5 wearing, Louis Vuitton purse carrying, bleach blonde, nipped, tucked, and botox injected self the fuck out of my way.
Because like everyone else in that line today, I hate you.
Thanks for your cooperation,
The Tweeker Chick.