Et tu, Brute?

The comment came, much like many hateful remarks, couched within the safe confines of teasing.  "Any guy who would go out with you is either blind, dumb, or desperate, or maybe a bit of all three," he said. It was the second time he said it, but it was worse because I had an audience to my humiliation--and the audience was you.  Someone whom I respected, admired, and wanted to think the best of me.

You stood there, witness to the cutting down of my worth as a person, in silence.  You may have chuckled--I'm not sure.  I just know "that was uncalled for" didn't come out of your mouth when I was within earshot.  Was it because you had a boys' night out planned with him that you didn't think it was worth it to say anything?  In the struggle of fun versus principle, I guess the decision was easy. Perhaps there was silence because it didn't concern you or your family, so it really wasn't worth the effort?  Was it because I am a female and you are married that you are so afraid of misconstrued kindness that you didn't respond? Or is it because self confidence is a tired issue with me, and you're tired of hearing about it, so again, it became "not worth the effort" to call someone on a hateful remark?

I'm struggling here with the double blow:  the remark and the aftermath.

Since you didn't ask, I'll let you know how I felt. I walked away with tears in my eyes.  Embarassed.  Humiliated.  Sickened. 

Sure, the guy who made the remark came by to apologize.  "Sorry if I hurt your feelings--I was joking."  I think I gave him a phony smile so he would leave my area.  He mentioned you and your bike, and I was stupid enough to say, "Well, make sure he's not drunk and riding at night."  My comment was meant sincerely, and then I realized after saying it, it was pointless.  Obviously, the "friendship" goes one way because you know I would have defended you if such a rude comment was made. I would have walked away with you, if that was your reaction. I would have seen if you were OK.  I would have said something.  

No, I'm not blowing things out of proportion.  His remark was hurtful, and knowing my issues, you had to know how I would feel.

Your instant message came later, "He doesn't hate you.  He just likes to get under your skin."  As a "friend" I would have thought you would have asked if I was OK. Obviously, like so many things in my life, I was wrong. 

In our daily bantering, I often tease you about being right.  Well, this time, when it was an important matter, you were dead wrong.

In yesterday's unusually cool August afternoon, I learned my worth to you as a person.  As a "friend."

Stunned, feeling a bit like Caesar, I watched what I thought was a friendship disintegrate and fall at my feet.  You didn't wield the knife, but your "response" cut deeper than some asshole's off-hand remark.

It took an acquaintance who realized I was spending way too long in the bathroom to ask what was wrong.  "Totally uncalled for...Completely rude bastard who said that--guys like that make me ashamed to be a man.  No matter how thick someone's skin is, a comment like that would hurt.  Bet you can hear those words still in your head.  Let's get out of here and get a drink." 

Like Blanche, I took solace in relying on the kindness of strangers.