Dear Lady-in-the-picture-on-the-bank-website,
Hi there. You don't know me. I just see you when I choose to log in and examine my paltry checking account balance and determine whether I have enough cash to justify picking up my clothes out of hock from the dry cleaner's.
Ours is a friendship based on polite acknowledgement and wordless greetings. We smile, we nod, and we go on our merry way.
Which brings me to my point.
You look a little *too* merry.
Okay, I think it's great that you're on the bank website. Right now you're taking a picture of yourself with a digital camera, but I'm almost positive I've seen other pictures of you (or maybe your friends) smelling buttercups and petting kittens. Maybe licking a spoon after making a mix of brownies, or kissing your boyfriend (husband?) in a hot air balloon.
I get it.
Your life is great.
And how can it not be - what with all those residuals you must be getting from the bank for your cheery appearance on www.weneedmorebailoutmoneyatthebank.com.
The thing is - the rest of us are struggling a little bit more, and aren't really in the mood to pose for a picture with Pollyanna.
We log in to the bank and discover we've just been raped by overdraft fees. Or maybe we visit the site after receiving a letter from the bank saying our home is in foreclosure. Maybe we log in to the bank site to check the status of that car loan we applied for, only to discover a pop-up box with a sound effect of cruel, haunting laughter.
They're all gonna laugh at you, indeed.
So, Lady-in-the-picture-on-the-bank-website, if you sense a general disconnect and bitterness coming from my side of the screen next time we pass, please don't take it personally. Just know some of us aren't reveling in raindrops on roses and whiskers in kittens.
Hell, we don't even have enough jingle to feed the damn cat.
2 comments:
Priceless.
BTW...I think she does the magazine adds for Valtrax too...
and you thought you knew her...lol
Well said! The bank lady is a b*tch. It is a man on my site and his teeth are too white.
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