I’ve been lucky with friends.
I have friends from every era of my life– high school (ok, so we’ve drifted apart), college, graduate school, various jobs I’ve had, volunteer work, mothers from each of my children’s grades, and now, blogging.
I treasure these friends. Because I feel like we know each other and we understand each other and we protect each other. Sort of like the Marines, but with Chardonnay and standing pedicure appointments.
So when one of those friends does something that hurts me, that damages me to my very core, I have to reflect.
Did I misjudge the friend? Did I imagine our friendship to be more important than it was? Am I too sensitive?
I’m not going to name any names, but recently someone that I considered a friend did something that made me reflect and question everything I thought I knew. (Fortunately, it’s not very much.)
She sent me an email that had the word ute in it. As in short for “uterus”. And I’ll tell you, I haven’t been the same since.
I assume that she did it because she didn’t know how to download soundbytes of nails scratching on a chalkboard and wanted the fastest way possibly to skeeve me out.
I can’t get the word out of my mind and stop being grossed out by it.
What is wrong with our society where friends inflict such emotional turmoil on each other? Is uterus so long a word that we have to abbreviate it into something so disgusting. AND DOES IT GROSS OUT EVERYONE ELSE TOO, O FAIR READERS?
I may never know.
But I mourn the friendship.
One year ago ...
- Note to Self - 2012