dear creepy man that comes into my work and only books appointments with the super feminine pretty stylists,

it amuses me that every time i open my mouth to speak to you, a wave of disgust and fear washes over your face.
it gives me pleasure to know that you hate everything about me.
i get a deep satisfaction in knowing that i am not your kind, your brand, your whatever.
i don't want your beady little eyes on my body.
thank god i am not your type.

love always,
kayla