Dear Whole Foods,
But. Your plastic bags were the best. I loved them, I really did. They were roomy and hefty (I almost said "big and thick," but this is not that kind of blog, you perverts. Okay, I guess it kind of is) and didn't need to be doubled up. They made the best garbage can and diaper pail liners--they never tore, never leaked, kept in the poop smells better than any other bag. Now we have to use those cheap flimsy bags from the grocery store down the street.
And what am I supposed to do with all of these paper bags? Because sometimes, I just don't have my own shopping bag with me, and I have to use your paper bags (doubled up, annoyingly). And my kid is only 14.5 months old, so she doesn't have any textbooks to cover, and the cat only needs one bag to play with, and there are only so many presents you can wrap in brown paper bags before you become that girl, and you don't want me to be that girl, do you, Whole Foods?
And here's the big thing: I live in the big city. I don't own a car. I walk and take the subway everywhere. I walk from my office to your store, and then from your store to the subway, and then a five-minute walk from the subway to my apartment. And you know, a lot of times it's raining, or snowing, when I'm walking home. And I am just waiting for the terrible day when one of your stupid brown paper bags gets soaking wet and falls apart and spills my groceries all over the sidewalk while I'm walking home in the rain. Uphill. With wet shoes. And my canvas shopping bag is soaked through and my box of stupid yuppie organic "O" cereal gets all wet. And it will be all your fault, Whole Foods.
I will probably continue to spend my entire paycheck at your store, because I'm a lame eco-yuppie like that. But I will hold this plastic bag thing against you. I just thought you should know.