Dear Tattooed Ginger from Walmart: I'm sorry.

Dear Tattooed Ginger from Walmart: I'm sorry.

You know who you are.

You were wearing a black wife beater, black sunglasses, and blue jeans. You approached me as I sat on a bench outside of the Walmart in Paola yesterday.

As I understand you had no way of knowing anything about me before approaching me, I'm shocked that you found it in your best interest to talk to me anyway.

You see, I was pretty much feeling my lowest. I had just come out of the Walmart bathroom after hiding in there not knowing if I was going to vomit, black out, or both. I had just been discharged after being admitted to Kansas University Medical Center for one week.

I was poked, stabbed, jabbed, cut, and squeezed more times than what I care to think about. I had two MRIs of my head, a CAT scan, a venogram, a nerve block in my eyes, a spinal tap, a blood patch, and blood drawn twice daily. Between infiltrated IVs and people missing my veins while drawing blood, my arms and hands were entirely too sensitive and sore to the touch.

My crotch was in agony, too, because the venogram involved cutting an incision in my groin so a catheter could be inserted - and yes, since I know you are wondering, the catheter DID extend from my groin to my brain. Literally. No, I was not given enough medicine at first - I DID feel the catheter attach to my vein as it traveled from my "mound" (meaning my vagina pudge if you don't understand) and up past my bellybutton. At that point I was hollering and they gave me enough fentanyl that I never felt it reach my brain, but I'm sure you can imagine how overwhelmed I felt after being a victim of such horror.

Four out of seven days of my visit involved no eating, no drinking, and constant nausea followed by vomiting for two days. I showered twice in the week that I was in the hospital, and yes I was on my menstrual cycle during that time.

Again, I understand that you had no way of knowing any of these disgusting things about me before or even after you spoke to me - but hours later I still cannot imagine what you must have experienced to make you so lonely that you would try to bark up this tree.

Without hearing me speak, there were several things that were easily observable about my appearance:

First of all, my nappy, un-brushed hair was blowing relentlessly in the wind, making sure to cover most of my face.

I had dark circles under my eyes from a week of intense pain and little sleep.

I still had four hospital bracelets around my wrists.

My forearms, hands, and wrists had several black and purple bruises from the thousand needles that stuck me.

My ankles were exposed, and my coarse, dark leg hairs were visible.

I was also wearing pajamas.

And lastly, my large breasts were clearly loose underneath my white t-shirt.

With all that being said, I have to ask: was it the hospital bracelets, bruises, or my breasts flopping in the wind that first grabbed your attention?

Even after I told you twice that I was simply waiting for my husband to meet me outside so we could go home, you still wanted a piece of this meat.

While I am flattered, I am also deeply disturbed, confused, and genuinely concerned about your mental health. What made you look at me and think, “Yep, that’s the one,”?

In a nutshell, I certainly learned that you truly never know what’s going on in someone’s brain. This poor ginger has clearly been tormented.

Depression is real, people. This guy was willing to stoop reeeeeaaaaaaal low.

If you’re ever as lonely as that guy, do yourself a favor and call the suicide prevention line at 1-800-273-8255. There is simply no excuse for wanting to get with a hobo you found on a Walmart bench.

Thank you,
A very amused crazy woman