The Strangeness

My poor husband must put up  with my strangeness.
My poor husband must put up with my strangeness.

I am awkward as f*ck. I know I am. This is not the part where I apologize for it. This also isn’t the part where I thank people for “putting up with me.” I am not that person.

I tend to embrace what makes me strange and use it to my advantage. That shit works for me. But sometimes, my awkward self comes out at the most inconvenient times. Like, for example, when someone I used to know pops into the shop I manage.

I see someone I recognize and go into panic mode. I force an uncomfortable amount of customer service and small talk into a whole new level of cringe. I never know when to just walk away. I ask stupid, outdated questions about kids who don’t talk to you anymore and animals who passed last year. I basically feel like a total BOOB.

So, to the old friend who didn’t know what she was getting herself into when she went looking for wooden rings honed from ancient elder trees fed only with fairy dust and unicorn piss, I won’t be apologizing for my awkwardness anytime soon, but I don’t think I’ll be seeing you anytime soon either.

Sorry about your 3-toed sloth.

xo Rach

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