Hello there! I noticed your friend request pop up on Wednesday, and despite my hazy memories of you from high school, I hit that accept button. A mere 19 seconds later, I found myself added to your “Fabulous Frenzy of Funky Fragrances and Jamberry Jamboree!” Facebook group. Oh, joy.
Yes, it seems I’m one of 400 of your closest pals. Let’s cut to the chase: I’m not buying any of the stuff you’re selling. The jewelry, the nail wraps, the skincare, the candles, the whole “lifestyle” package — it’s a no from me. Before you get defensive, let me clarify: I’ve been there, done that, and I’m done. I’ve bought things from people I genuinely care about, and even that’s a rarity now. I totally understand that you’re seeking independence and a way to earn a living from home. It’s great that you’ve found a “sisterhood,” or whatever you want to call it. However, could you please keep me and my wallet out of it?
If I get added to one more Facebook group, I might just lose it. What’s with all these groups? Am I your friend or merely a prospect? No means no. I have zero interest in attending another local party just to make small talk with someone I’m pretty sure I waved goodbye to in the carpool line. You can’t entice me to buy another purse I’ll never use just because I stress-ate your Buffalo chicken dip. And let’s be real: telling me there will be “plenty of booze” isn’t a selling point. I can drink at home, sans pants, and you bet I’m not putting on a bra for this!
You know who never asks me to wear pants? Amazon Prime. No, I don’t want to “just try” your free samples. I don’t need a fajita pan, let alone those turquoise pieces you’ve got. No one wears that much turquoise unless they’re planning a retirement in Santa Fe! And no, I don’t want to try on clothes in your hall closet; a gathering of chattering women and an array of smelly candles is not my idea of fun. You lost 30 pounds on Shakeology? Good for you! But we both know those shakes taste like disappointment. Rubbing oil on my neck won’t magically fix my thyroid. Oh, are you a doctor now? Is the trunk of your Ford Escape your makeshift office? Sounds legit.
Also? 3-D lashes are not my thing. Honestly, your face looks like a tarantula exhibit. “It Works!” you say? If one body wrap worked for you, that’s fantastic. You know what else works? Spanx. Just bought some online. Pants-free. Boom.
I’m not trying your skincare. I don’t have to give it 30 days to see results. I could smear Elmer’s glue on my face for a month and take a picture for a “before and after.” I’ve got Photoshop for that. I’ll stick with my Olay from the grocery store, thank you very much. Now I have to shop like a ninja, avoiding the aisle where you might be lurking, ready to pitch me your “amazing opportunity” to host one of these parties. Please, I beg you, just stop talking about your MLM, okay?
What really gets under my skin (there’s an oil for that, right?) isn’t just the parties or the products. Some of them might be decent. It’s the way friendships are exploited to recruit more people that really creeps me out. You’re effectively selling your friends. The whole thing smells like a coconut-scented pyramid scheme, no matter how beautifully packaged it is. This is just my view; I could be mistaken. Feel free to share your success stories or how the money is rolling in. But let’s not forget to discuss how much has gone out, too, okay? Tell me how thrilled you are to be a “momtrepreneur,” and I’ll do my best to control my eye twitch every time you use that term. No rush; just call me when you’re back from your all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii.
To sum it all up: If you send me one more Jamberry party invite, I might just have to Jamberry my foot up your backside.
Good chat! Bye for now.
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