When I complained about my hopeless situation, my friends said they were sorry, but they couldn’t help because years of watching violent films had made them cruel and uncaring, just like our parents had predicted. Besides, they were all set in life and saw no reason to get involved in someone else’s problems. 

So, I went online shopping. 

First, I purchased a slightly used husband in pretty good condition. The seller claimed she was passing him along only because she’d been gifted an upgraded version and had no use for two. Otherwise, she’d never part with him, as he was truly amazing. I had him shipped overnight.

Once the husband was in place, I made him cook my favorite breakfast as a test. He seemed to work fine and had a nice disposition, as advertised. 

Reassured that shopping online was a trustworthy undertaking and not some scam, I went on one of those websites selling precious memories. They had a forty-percent discount for first-time users, so I spent an enjoyable hour doing the personality quiz, then filling my cart with unforgettable moments tailored especially to me. They even added some featuring the husband I’d just purchased. Once the payment went through, I immediately remembered all these moments as if they’d happened yesterday and felt tears of joyous recollection fill my eyes. 

The husband was making little unhappy noises by then. As it turned out, he was eager for some quality time together, getting to know each other and all that. But I was in no mood to chat or bond. I just wanted to keep fixing my life. Besides, I’d read his description in the store and felt up to speed. However, he seemed distressed. 

Sighing heavily, I told him to wait a moment while I got some character traits. It must have been my lucky day—there was a buy-one-get-one-free sale. I got “companionship” and considered “compassion” for a moment before settling on “cocktail-making skills,” figuring that one would be more practical. 

Once I put my new trait to good use, the husband settled down, and I felt quite content as well. My shopping spree was almost complete. All that remained to buy were some future prospects. There were many to choose from, some bespoke and handmade but quite pricey, others clearly mass-produced but cheap enough to get a bunch and throw away what I didn’t like. 

As I was weighing my options, the doorbell rang. The husband led in the next-door neighbor. She launched into the sad story of the troubles she was having in her personal and professional life. My famous companionship led me to hear her out, but when she was done talking and went on to sniffling miserably, I told her that unfortunately listening to heavy rock music in my youth had left me devoid of compassion or empathy, and that I’d decided against purchasing any just now. At best, I could make her a cocktail before she showed herself out. My troubles were behind me now. I didn’t need anyone else’s.