Mother dearest,

It is I, your wayward millennial daughter. I did so try to follow in your footsteps to the path to success. I chased my American Dream all the way to the city of New York. I toiled, I fought, I kicked and screamed and branded myself on Twitter. Alas, cher maman, it is all for naught; for I have soiled my prospective fortune on $50,000 worth of avocado toast.

I know that the true blame lies with me, mother, but I cannot help but ask: why didn’t you warn me of the perils of spending hundreds of thousands of dollars over the course of a lifetime on avocado toast? In all your 25 years of raising me, the most pivotal piece of advice — the one crucial to my financial success, and the livelihood not just of me, but my future progeny and the legacy of our entire family line — was the one bit of advice you neglected.

For you see, mother, I have rampantly, aggressively, lustfully spent day in and day out buying avocado toast for myself. Sometimes when I feel particularly reckless I buy it for other millennials — and oh, mother, don’t be ashamed, but I sometimes buy it for millennials I don’t even know! Once I got hooked on buying avocado toast, the rest of my life unraveled so quickly I didn’t know how to stop it; it was a high unlike any I have ever experienced, and now on the other side of the $50,000 I should have spent on my down payment for a house, there is nothing but scorched earth, an empty bank account, and the rotted rinds of avocados in my wake.

I see now the true nature of my error. For so long I have blamed the baby boomers for destroying the economy, blamed the 2008 economic collapse, blamed the empty job market after college graduation, but now I see the true catalyst: it is the toast of avocados, and I am its dark mistress.

Forgive me, mother. This may be the last letter I send to you; I leave tomorrow for Iceland to try to cleanse myself of this avocado toast addiction, and I know not when I will return. I only know that in the next year, the money I am able to save from abstaining from avocado toast shall surely be able to purchase the house I dream of, as well as a sweet little pied à terre for you and father dearest, and possibly — be still my millennial heart — actual health insurance.

Until then, mother, please accept my humblest apologies; you raised me too well to deserve a daughter with an avocado-hardened heart.

Love from,

Your Sad Millennial