I said no gifts. I meant it, too. You knew that I Marie Kondo'd my apartment twice. I gave you the book to read before that Netflix show got popular. But you insisted. You made me open up gift after gift of trinkets and items I might use but probably won't. With each new gift, I cringed, knowing it would eventually find its way to the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. You made me perform for you with those old rehearsed lines: "Oh how sweet!" "This is so thoughtful!" When I opened a pair of pants, you even had me go into the bathroom to try them on. "Let's see!" you urged. I came back with the new pants on, tags dangling, and you all looked at me and I wanted to disappear forever. I told you I don't want any gifts, so why do you all keep giving them? Are they for me or for you?

To submit an unsigned confession or accusation, send an e-mail to ianonymous@thestranger.com. Please remember to change the names of the innocent and guilty.