Please read and listen to everything that I wrote and said about the New York Times yesterday.
I don't envy your girlfriend. I'm sorry for her. She's spending her youth with you instead of with men her age, and she's been doing that since she was a teenager
You calling me ugly can't hurt my feelings. Of course, the world that you have inhabited all your life can't understand why I couldn't care less about what you think of me or what I look like, or how you say the stupid, immature things that you and everybody like you say. Mentally, you're preteens; you're worse than a lot of preteens, many of whom are not uneducated, vicious hogs.
I don't love looking older, but the thought of it doesn't preoccupy my day the way it does for everyone you know. Sometimes I feel sad that I'm not as beautiful as I used to be, but I also accept that it's part of aging, and I know that it's not my fault. I don't have the money to look better, and I also hope that I wouldn't be a slave to plastic surgery even if I were rich.
Sometimes, I feel bad about some of the things that I have said to you and about you over the past few years. Some of it was mean and unnecessary. I hate people like you, though. I try to be polite and decent, but I hate people like you, and it's not because you don't like me; I hate people like you even when you do like me.
Copyright L. Kochman, November 21, 2015 @ 8:01 a.m.
