Guilt Complex

There are a few things that I must get off of my chest. (and no it's not my bra, you sicko's).

To my husband: I'm sorry that I left my crappy mixed cd of Glee songs and Trisha Yearwood in your truck. I didn't realize how terrible it was until two weeks after I left it in there. I'm also sorry that I took away your other cds that were in there so that you were forced to listen to my one weakness in life -- teenage choir showtunes.

To Over The Rhine: I'm sorry in advance. We will be meeting sometime this weekend and I will for certain creep you out. It's going to happen, don't try to stop it. Trust me, if there is one thing I've learn over the past 25 years is that you can't stop awkward. I will try to hug you and you will probably try to turn away. Do not run because I will chase you.

To the nosey co-worker who keeps leaving passive-agressive signs up everywhere telling every other adult in the office to clean the kitchen or securely shut a door: I"m sorry for drawing random things on the signs. There is just something about cheap flourescent paper that makes me want to draw unicorns and mustaches and to mark out important letters so it creates a dirty word. Oh and I'm also sorry for vomiting in the kitchen and not cleaning it up. But I did leave the door open to air it out.

To anyone I've talked to on the phone in the past week: If I was at home when we were talking, I'm sorry. I was not listening. I've been watching hours upon hours of the show Greek on hulu and I wasn't listening at all.

To distant relatives that find me on facebook: I'm sorry, have we met?

To my future children: I'm sorry but you will need therapy. And by the way that we spend money now, you'll probably have to pay for it.

To our couch: I'm so sorry that Bryan farts on you every night, right into your cushion. You don't deserve it. You deserve to be dry cleaned, but it's kind of expensive. You understand right?

To my hair: I'm sorry I forgot about you in the shower today. I don't know what happened. I just skipped right ahead to the face wash and forgot all about you. Then I put a hot iron on you and force you into an unnatural state where you stayed for approximately 2 hours. I do this to you every single day. I understand why you fall out sometimes, I'd leave too if I was treated that way. I'm also sorry about the time that I clipped Jessica Simpson hair extensions to you. Is that considered cheating? It is? Okay, well then I'm sorry I cheated. At least I never went blonde, right?

To the sales person who insulted me on the phone today by forcing me to spell my name 3 times and then saying "kendi? that's interesting." and then expecting me to agree: I'm sorry I sat there in silence for so long and waiting for you to recover. That was terrible of me.

Okay, I feel much better now.