Owning Up

Dear Butch,

There is only relationship that your lady has that is closer then the one you share.  It isn’t with her best friend or her sister, but with her hair dresser.

This week, I am ending that relationship with you.

We have been together for a decade.  Ten years of commitment to cut, color, and chatter.  You knew me when I was just blossoming into the woman I am today.  When I was a wee little femme hiding my desires of lace dresses under baggie sweatshirts.  I came in with a horrible bush of hair that you have perfected into a a garden of gorgeous over the years.

But, it is all over now in the most unexpected way.  It is over because you can’t muster a sincere apology.

I came in before the holidays, looking for you to perform your magic before I was fully immersed in gatherings.  It all state so well, a warm greeting and a kind hug.  I sat in the chair and that is when you turned from enchanting to evil.  The exact details of the exchange are clear to me; the sly insults about my hair, my dress, and my personal life were like a blow to the gut.  The exact words used are to painful to repeat.

I was sure you were just having an off day.

It isn’t like you to be so cruel, catty yes, but not cruel.  In a bold move, I reached out and expressed how I felt after the appointment.  Shamed and ugly.  I was constructive and kind, kinder then what I was told I needed to be.  And in return I received a egotistcal and blamminge email.  If you had uttered one simple “I am sorry.” I would have chalked the whole experience a bad night of sleep or a tough morning commute.  Now I just see you were being a flat out bitch.

It isn’t me, it’s you.  We are over.

Love,

Femme

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