Life is absurd. We're just taking notes.
Your online shopping cart isn't a purchase plan—it's a time capsule of aspirational purchases, financial fantasy, and the exact moment you almost became a person who owns throw pillows. It will sit there, untouched, until the items disappear entirely.
It's been eleven days. The message sits there, little and blue and full of expectation. You've seen it. You've read it. You've thought about answering it at least nine separate times. And yet. Here we are.
You've never heard of this concept in your life. And yet somehow you're nodding with the quiet confidence of someone who wrote the Wikipedia article. This is the story of how we all became accidental experts at pretending.
It was supposed to be a quick trip. Twenty minutes, tops. You had a list — well, a mental list — and a plan. That was four hours ago, and you're currently sitting in a Panera parking lot questioning your entire afternoon. Again.