Member-only story
Or Any of the Million Other Places I’ve Encountered You
You’re not the first person I’ve met that thinks the way you do. In fact, you’re not the first one this week and you probably won’t be the last. I’ve been encountering different variations of you most of my life.
The thing is, I know what’s wrong with you. Well, for the most part, I do. But I wonder what’s wrong with me. Is it my blue eyes and milky white skin? Is it my chubby cheeks and adorable auburn curls? Is it that I’m fairly small and look like a sweet, harmless person? It’s probably that last one, right? For some reason people find me approachable and want to talk to me, even when I’m purposely wearing my resting bitch face. Or, is there something about me that makes you think I’m on your “team,” or whatever it is you call it?
You used to upset me a great deal. I’d come home as a teenager in tears, not old enough to process the fact that adults couldn’t grasp the concept of all people being equal. The fact that you chose me as your perceived sister in arms made me feel dirty, defective, somehow, like I was wearing some sort of stink on me that you could detect.
The conversation today went the same way as it always seems to, standing in line, waiting to check out more crap we probably don’t need.
