the fourth installment in a week-long series exploring the rituals of apologizing
i live in a little town in a little state in a big country. five days a week, i drive my little car from my little house to a little office where i work for a little man with a big opinion of himself and a little opinion of me. on the weekends, i putter in my little vegetable garden, go for a swim in the little indoor lap pool in our little community center, and come home to put on my little black dress for a big night out.
my little group of friends tells me i have a little problem with apologizing a little too much, which is a big deal to me. so i got the big idea to keep a little log of all my apologies yesterday for the little space of two hours, when i was doing a little work, a little emailing, and a little grocery shopping. it reads like this:
ooh, sorry. pardon me. sorry. oh, excuse me. i'm so sorry. oops, i'm sorry. i apologize. i didn't mean to--yes, i'm sorry. yikes, what a jerk i am. i'm sorry. could i just--yes, i'm sorry. apologies apologies. sorry, sir. i'm just sorry as i can be. oh crap. sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry.
it looks like i have some big changes to make.
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