I’m Sorry…
Tuesday, May 13th, 2008
To my dear husband.
I am sorry for being so not happy on mother’s day. When I said that I didn’t want any gifts; I didn’t mean that. I meant I wanted a day at the spa. and a new car. and an award for being so wonderful and such a martyr.
Of course if you did any of those things I would be angry at you for spending money or not listening to me when I said I didn’t want anything. Either way. You can’t win. Sorry.
To the middle aged lady in the red convertible.
I am sorry. I am sorry that I didn’t run you right off the road when you decided to play chicken with me and flip me off and yell curse words at me when you passed by. I apologize for not being as wonderful as a driver as you in your “midlife crisis mobile.” Unfortunately, I had children in the car and for some hormone induced reason decided to drive the speed limit and try and preserve the lives that have been given to me to raise. I am sorry that you were driving on Dale Mabry Hwy and not the Audubon. Sorry.
To the bill lady at our doctors office.
I am sorry for the fact that you have such poor record keeping skills that for the second time this year you double charged us for a co-pay. Once again I was my slacker self and paid the bill the first time you sent the notice. Unfortunately to keep yourself busy, you sent me a second notice with a big red underlining swoop demanding I pay NOW!!! because you like to forget that I already paid you.
Then to ice the cake you are only available between the hours of never and not in this lifetime. So when I try and call you to discuss this and give you the bank statement that clearly shows I already paid, I get to leave a new message. Are you wallpapering with all my messages? Because I have a few extra rolls of paper here I would be happy to give you. But then you would probably lose those, too.
Anyway, I am sorry that whenever I think about you I imagine wrapping you up with sticky note messages and cancelled checks. and tying you to your chair with the phone glued to your ear. Sorry.
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