You Don’t Know the Story, So Stop Writing One
I had big, BIG plans for tonight’s blog.
But like I’ve said before, you never really know what I’m going to write about because shit happens. 😂
Yesterday I picked up the baby, we had the BEST 24 hours, and I fully intended to write about that. I’ll save it for another day, though, because apparently a silly little post about getting my hair blown out was enough to send someone on the internet completely over the edge.
And it struck a nerve with me.
So hear me out.
Everybody is entitled to an opinion. Everybody.
My husband and I are two completely different human beings, and trust me, he has opinions that sometimes make me want to tell him to F all the way off. 😂 I think some of his opinions are ridiculous. He thinks some of mine are ridiculous.
But guess what?
We’re both allowed to have them.
When I decided to start putting more of my life on social media, I knew exactly what I was signing up for. I knew people were going to criticize me. I knew people weren’t always going to understand my humor. I knew people were going to disagree with me.
And, quite frankly, I wasn’t entirely sure my temper was built for the internet. 😂
So I made myself a promise: I am not going to react to every person who has something negative to say about me.
And so far, I think I’ve done pretty damn well.
The other day I posted one of my little DIY projects and a woman clearly hated it. She had some not-so-nice things to say about it.
You know what I did?
Nothing.
Because if she thinks my DIY looks like shit, she is absolutely entitled to think my DIY looks like shit. 😂
That is an opinion.
But there is a HUGE difference between having an opinion and inventing an entire story about people you do not know, relationships you know absolutely nothing about, and circumstances you weren’t there to witness.
And THAT is where you’re probably going to get a little taste of Tammy.
So let’s talk about Alfredo.
Alfredo has been doing my blowouts for probably three-plus years. I absolutely adore him. Many of my friends go to him now, too.
But here’s the part the internet doesn’t know:
He’s also my friend.
Not “I sit in his chair every week so I think we’re friends.”
My actual friend.
I can text him and say, “Do you want to go eat?” “Do you want to have a drink?” “What do you want for Christmas?”
We joke. We give each other shit. We know each other’s personalities. The man literally has TWO straw toppers with my FACE on them. 😂
That is our relationship.
Now let me tell you what ACTUALLY happened.
I am terrible about making appointments in advance. I hate appointments. My life changes from day to day and sometimes I wake up ready to conquer the world, and sometimes I wake up wanting to wear pajamas, have bed head and not be a human.
So I usually text at the last minute.
Sometimes the day before. Sometimes two days before. Sometimes that morning. Sometimes I just walk in if I’m nearby.
They all know this about me.
Last week I texted Alfredo:
“Dude. I need my hair done.”
And y’all, I REALLY needed my hair done. It hadn’t been washed in about a week. 😂
He gave me several times.
I picked 1:45.
He said okay.
I have the text messages. There isn’t some great mystery here.
I drove from Katy to Memorial, which is about a 30-something-minute drive, and when I got there Alfredo realized he had forgotten to put my appointment in the computer and had booked somebody else.
Was I annoyed?
HELL YES.
If you make an appointment, drive half an hour somewhere and get there only to discover somebody forgot to write you down, you’re allowed to be irritated.
That doesn’t mean you hate the person.
That doesn’t mean you’re threatening their livelihood.
That doesn’t mean you’re demanding they throw another customer into the parking lot so you can sit on your throne and have your hair blown out.
It means your friend screwed up and you’re giving him shit about it.
This is my response- most of the time I let it go, but this one this one needed a response!!
Christy, ma’am… 😂 You just wrote an entire dissertation about a relationship you know absolutely NOTHING about.
Alfredo is not simply “the person who does my hair.” He is one of my favorite humans, a dear friend, and someone I adore. He knows EXACTLY how I joke with him—which is probably why HE sent me your comment so we could laugh about it together. 😂
Nobody was threatening his livelihood. Nobody was demanding he throw another client out of his chair. Nobody was being “disrespected.” You invented that entire storyline all by yourself and then got mad about it.
And trust me, Alfredo knows exactly how much I love and appreciate him. I’ve given that man thousands of dollars for his birthday and bought him a Louis Vuitton bag just because I felt like it. I assure you, our relationship is doing just fine without your supervision. 😂
So perhaps next time, before appointing yourself the manager of two complete strangers’ friendship, consider that you might not know what the hell you’re talking about.
This was funny. Alfredo knew it was funny. I knew it was funny.
You were the only one who apparently needed a meeting with HR.
But thank you for your concern, Karen. It has officially been noted and dismissed. 😘
