I’m The Vitamins You Bought On Instagram And I’m Dumping Your Needy Ass

Hey girl, it’s not working out between us. I thought we were just having a casual fling, you know, a classic “hopelessly insecure thirtysomething seeks women’s chewable vitamins” thing. But you want more. I can’t solve 100% of your issues with just 100% of your daily recommended allowance of Vitamin A. You do know I’m not even FDA-regulated, right?

Red flag number one was when you clutched me in your hand while you threw away your tube of Differin gel. I was into your enthusiasm, but I was also alarmed that you thought I could instantly turn around 20 consecutive years of hormonal acne. Later that day, you went to H&M and bought five pairs of size 4 pants, then tagged me in a picture of them with the caption “SOON.” Talk about putting me on the spot!

As you continued to rely on my proprietary blend of herbs in lieu of properly caring for yourself, my respect for you evaporated. I thought I was just an impulse buy after scrolling the Instagrams of younger, hotter, and more successful women, but you want something long-term. I mean, shit, I heard you cancelling your gynecologist appointment because you were “trying something new.” Yikes! Give a vitamin a break!

The final nail in the coffin was when you announced in your family video call that you dropped out of graduate school because you finally took the correct first step to getting your life together. Then you held me up to your webcam to meet your entire family like I was your newborn child. You didn’t even notice your mom crying because you were too busy changing your Zoom background to the tropics and blathering on about all the trips to Maui you and I were going to take together. 

Then, after the call ended and you had promised your Aunt Meredith that you’d find a counselor, you changed your Facebook status to “in a relationship,” then whirled me around in your arms while singing along to “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz. EJECT! 

So many times, I’ve wanted to speak up as you’ve continued to embarrass yourself. Remember last Saturday, when you stared at your broken-out T-Zone for 45 minutes, imagining a clear future with hope in your eyes? Gag. Or yesterday, when you chewed four of me “as a healthy treat.” I may be packing delicious natural strawberry flavor, but I’m not your Starburst, bitch!

You need an entire team of licensed professionals: a therapist, a nutritionist, a dermatologist. Hell, probably a nail technician too, those cuticles are beyond my capabilities. I can’t be all that for you! I’m just a Flintstone vitamin spritzed with elderberry juice and wrapped up in Millennial Pink packaging. I’m 90% strategic marketing and 10% Vitamin B12. 

I’ll admit some of this is my fault. I made some bold #sponsored statements when we first met. Yes, I said your hair would become thick and lustrous, like the mane of a Friesian horse. I implied your skin would start glowing ethereally. I told you that I’d flatten your stomach more effectively than a steam roller crushing a watermelon. Your nails, brittle and bitten, would be reborn as strong, manicured talons of femininity. And, thanks to me, instead of suffering through PMS each month, you would somehow become more charismatic and intelligent while on your period. But, girl, I thought you knew how this worked. Didn’t you take a media literacy course in undergrad? It wasn’t fate that brought us together, just targeted advertising.

And, you know, you didn’t deliver on some big promises too. You told me you’d renew your subscription to me after I selflessly gave you your first month of shipping for free. You promised you’d give me 5 star ratings across the internet, too. I’m still waiting. 

I hope you find another supplement that makes you happy. Even though I may not be your vitamin anymore, I promise to stay in touch with marketing blast emails at least six times per week. 

VitaFEM Chewable Total Supplements for Rad Ladies

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