Emailing me to ask for help two years after spitting, “Lose my number!” into the phone before hanging up on me is so much bullshit, I can smell you in Maine on the west wind here in Seattle.

It’s beyond belief you want help finding something. Are you fucking kidding me? That’s a Search 101 seminar at the retirement home, not a, “I know, I’ll email and ask an ex-friend and -lover I dumped.”

Discovering you’ve been cyber-stalking me for who knows how long puts the digested cherry pit on top of the shit sundae I was dealing with back then. You do recall my mom had died a couple of months before, right?

The gall.

Don’t contact or stalk me again.

About cistotrans

A Seattle-area trans woman seeking a happy spot to stay at along the path of transition.
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