Dear Old Lady Hipster in Front of me at the Food Emporium, You Are SO Old

I mean, you must be at LEAST 29. You probably think you knock a few years off your appearance dressing yourself entirely in the clearance section of Urban Outfitters. Your oversized pork pie hat, gigantic cloud-blue unflattering winter coat, and leggings only conceal the true emptiness of your soul.

Stop turning around and judging me for my purchase of Reduced-Fat Oreos and Low-Fat Milk, okay?! I know what you’re thinking: “so bourgeois and pedestrian. How gauche! I could make those Oreo cookies with my vegan Nabisco recipe book in my East Williamsburg apartment’s kitchen, (advertised, appropriately, to me as a ‘chef’s dream’).” Well, just because you look like The Strokes Cover Band, Reptilia's, wet dream, doesn't mean your cool, okay? "East Williamsburg" is really "Bushwick," and no one likes vegan food except vegans, and EVERYONE KNOWS THAT CHEFS HAVE NO DREAMS. Unless they dream to be on Top Chef, but I would say that qualifies as more of an “aspiration”.

So get over it Nosy Nellie (if that is your real name). Besides, what are YOU buying? An onion? ONLY ONE ONION?! I don’t understand! Are you planning on eating that onion by itself? Where were you and what was happening when you realized you need only one medium-sized onion? Were you in the middle of cooking something vegan when you realized you needed an onion? Don’t they have onions in Bushwick? Maybe not: one more reason I don’t live in “Suckwick” (that was my creative take on “Bushwick”, I thought it was better than “Suck Williamsburg”, with the “Suck” replacing the word “East”). I bet they don’t have Food Emporiums out in East Williamsuck, because supermarkets with creative jingles won’t be found in neighborhoods lacking one thing the jingle indicates: Class.

So go home to BushSuck (ANOTHER creative take on your very much-hypothesized place of living. I know what you’re thinking: ZING!). I’ll be cozying up in my apartment on University Place, a place where I don’t feel like I fit in, mostly because I don’t attend the university anymore, but WHATEVER. Stop following me home by walking in front of me the whole time! I hope your onionbreath fights off the demons keeping you trapped in the garb of a 19-year-old, trapped in the university dorm on University Place, right next door.