I'm Not Holding Her Hand To Ruin Her Day | The Odyssey Online
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Politics and Activism

I'm Not Holding Her Hand To Ruin Her Day

An open letter to the elderly woman in Fred Meyer who had a problem with me and my fiancee.

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I'm Not Holding Her Hand To Ruin Her Day
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Dear Lady at the Grocery Store,

My apologies for being at the grocery store on this particular day because it clearly ruined your entire day. I’m sorry about that. I suppose I could have gone to a different store, that probably would have made your day a lot easier. Honestly, I’m really sorry that you had to be in the same building as me.

It was probably really difficult for you. I mean, I can’t even imagine how awful it was for you. You, an elderly lady who just wanted to pull some cash out, probably to buy some more of that awful lipstick or another pair of crocs, had to witness one of the most disgusting things on Earth.

A same-sex couple holding hands in public.

Jesus, I mean, in between looking like a cast member of the Golden Girls, and being a bitter, prejudice old woman, life must be pretty terrible for you. I can’t imagine having to look at a pair of women holding hands on top of it all. Really, what were we thinking? Trying to hold hands while we rent a steam cleaner-the nerve!

I should have just pretended that my partner of almost two years was just my buddy, my pal, my sister, or my roommate. I mean, that’s what everyone assumes we are every day of our lives. It’s not like it’s already frustrating having to correct every waiter, doctor, salesmen, professor, and random person on the street, that Maddie isn’t just my friend. In fact, since that’s what everyone thinks we are anyway, I might as well only hold her hand when we’re locked behind closed doors, since it clearly offended you so much.

How rude of me to assume that reaching out to hold on to her during an average moment of my life, wouldn’t affect you at all. You probably had to go home and cry about it to others about how dirty you feel after two people who love each other held hands in a grocery store. You poor thing.

Like I said, it as an average moment in my life. We just needed to rent a steam cleaner for our carpets. Not a big deal. But you see, the average moments in life are what make of most of my days. Going to the park with our dog. Walking to class. Eating at a restaurant. Renting a steam cleaner. In these little moments, I’m not thinking about the fact that I like girls. I’m not thinking about the fact that the person I love is the same gender as me. I’m just not. I was thinking about how in this average moment in life, I wanted to reach out and feel connected to her.

Being gay is honestly the least interesting thing about me. Most of the time, I forget.

Until people like you remind me. Until I notice you standing in front of the ATM, physically turning your entire bigoted body so that you were facing us, glaring us down. Until I turned to Maddie and loudly asked ā€œWhy is that lady staring at us?ā€ Until she reminded me that, oh yeah, our existence is offensive.

You continued to glare at us as we walked passed, put our cart away, and walked out the door. Shaking your head disapprovingly, I knew what we had done.

There’s no denying it, we had ruined your day. For that, I am truly sorry. I’ve honestly just gotten to a place where I no longer feel nauseous holding her hand in public, so sometimes I forget how truly disgusting we are to people. The lack of severe panic attacks and looking over my shoulder to make sure no one is about to criticize us must have clouded my judgement.

But just so you know, I wasn’t doing it to spite you. I wasn’t holding her hand because I was hoping to personally offend you. In fact, I didn’t even notice you and your ugly crocs until I felt like I was being stared at while I rented a steam cleaner. You didn’t matter to me when I walked into the store, and you didn’t matter to me when I walked out.

I’m not afraid of people like you anymore.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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