Snapfish, you stink.
I tried to like you, really I did. You were the one who first introduced me to Photo Books. You showed me how I could put an entire year's worth of pics into one small, thin book-- no cropping, stickers, or glitter required. You convinced me that if I powered through one day in December, by the time Christmas rolled around, I'd have a nice album on the coffee table, look completely pulled together, and even gain points with the in-laws.
I wasn't wowed by your photo quality or your customer service and was eventually woo-ed away by Shutterfly and occasionally Kodak Gallery. But you were my first.
This year, when you sent me the 50% off "each album" coupon, I was back by your side like a lovesick teen. I wanted to wait until December, really I did, but your coupon expired in November. To heck with Thanksgiving. To heck with our Christmas card photos in matching plaid pj's. I wanted you and your savings, and I was willing to compromise to get it. If Nov and Dec had to go into NEXT YEAR'S BOOK, then so be it.
Imagine my dismay when, after 6 hours of selecting, editing, uploading, placing, and captioning 300 pictures, I discovered you weren't really who you said you were. That 50% off coupon, which should have been pretty significant on my ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY DOLLAR ORDER (????) amounted to $19.99. And the free shipping I'd been promised? Not able to be combined with any other offer. Gotta love the fine print.
I had to make a choice. Throw away all the time I'd put in and go crawling back to Shutterfly, who was ready to embrace me with open arms and a REAL 40% off coupon. Or, suck it up and press "order." I was leaving the next morning for Thanksgiving and that car wouldn't pack itself.
So, when you received my order, you may have thought I was the same happy little Anna See of days gone by. As if all it takes to impress me is .11 prints or a snappy website. No sirreee. And those little coupons you've been putting in my inbox ever since you received my colossal order? Just like pouring lemon juice on a paper cut. I bet by Christmas Eve you'll be offering me 75% off plus a make-out session with tongue.
Well, forget it.