To charge, or not to charge: that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the bank to suffer
The stings and errors of outdated fashion,
Or to take cards against a ’drobe of troubles,
And by purchasing end them? To buy: to shop;
No more; and by a shop to say we spend
The hard-earned and the thousand remaining bucks
That we were heir to, ’tis a materialism
Devoutly to be wish’d. To buy, to shop;
To shop: perchance to spend: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that shop of death what debts may come
When we have shuffled out of this Macy’s coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes a credit score of so long life;
For who would bear the quips and scorns of Tim,
The debt collector, a proud man, an asshole,
Who calls me day and night and seriously
Needs to check his fucking attitude because
He sounds like the most depressed human being,
And he still tries to ruin my life? Ahem,
With “card rejection?” who would Walmart bear,
To grunt and “save” under fluorescent lights,
But that the dread of bankrupting from debt,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No fashionista returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those frills we have
Than buy designers that we dream not of?
Thus credit does make cowards of us all;
And thus the newest shoe of Chris Louboutin
Is sicklied o’er with the pale price of thought,
And enterprises of great fit and label
With this regard their hangers turn awry,
And lose the name of purchase.