Tuesday, April 20, 2010

My name is MzMannerz

Well, my name is NOT MzMannerz, but in the spirit of My Name is Earl, I thought now might be a great time to make a few mea culpas to the universe at large. Specifically:

M in Baltimore: I apologize that teenager me promised to marry you and bear your children. Obviously, that didn't happen, but I think my technique of avoidance was a poor way to communicate my lack of intention. I am really unsure how I might make this up to you, however, given that I am now married to someone else and the grapevine has produced news of your own marriage, without time travel, and then I'm afraid I'd be tempted to resort to that pesky avoidance technique again. So just trust me: I'm sorry.

To the nuns on Madonna Place in East Orange: I'm sorry I found what was obviously one of your rosaries and told my mother it was a birthday present I'd purchased for her at the candy store. First, the candy store did not sell rosaries or necklaces of any type, save for those that were edible. Second, I'm not sure why I didn't realize that at seven, my mother had no expectations for a birthday gift from me beyond me coloring on some folded cardboard. At any rate, my father returned the rosary to you when I should have, so I'd like to officially offer my apology.

J in Syracuse: It was deplorable of me to inquire about whether or not S. and K. liked you, particularly since this inquiry occurred via my bedroom window while the three of you were standing under it. Height of rudeness, even if you had pronounced all of our houses 'shacks' and did not often produce many reasons for us to like you. We did like you, though, J., just as you liked us, warts and all, and, apparently, insufferable pettiness and girl fighting. Sorry.

E in Syracuse: When you decided to punch me in the stomach daily because I wouldn't be your girlfriend, and I listened to adults who told me that punching girls in the stomach was just the way ten year old boys showed they liked you, I am sorry I didn't exercise a sense of self preservation and common sense and completely whip your ass. I owe you one. No, I owe you two. If you grew up to further abuse women and generally conduct life as an ass, I know I am partially to blame because I let you get away with it. I regret that.

T, M and M in Atlanta: That gold necklace I told you was given to me by a boy in church who loved me? Belonged to my mother. He was not into me. I think you knew, so thank you for not calling me out (and even more, for not calling my mother). I'm sorry.

To D, my sister: When your broken record player would start to buzz over the music because someone nearby rattled the floor too strongly, well... I am sorry for jumping up and down outside the door to your room and then pretending to not know what you were talking about.

To D, my other sister: I'm so sorry I kept telling you your Cabbage Patch Doll, Keith, was malnourished, neglected and would suffer learning disabilities because you didn't feed him real food. Truth be told, I was jealous that you had a Cabbage Patch Doll and I didn't. No excuses, though. I'm sorry.

I'd like to pretend these are all the apologies I owe to the world, but then I'd just have that untruth to apologize for. Rather, I'll be honest that I'm tired of typing AND that there are some secrets I'll be taking to my grave.

Which reminds me, D: It's not true that something will happen to you if you breathe while you're passing a cemetery.


1 comment:

Tulips said...

The Cabbage Patch doll part is my favorite. You always tickle my funny bone.