An Alphabetic Confession Of Apologies Never Delivered
I apologize to:
the Ant I burned with a magnifying glass that one time, because I only scorched half of him and left his other end wiggling in a bid for survival.
the Book I cut up to make a lampshade. Paper plates, masking tape, white glue, and fuzzy bobbles are all fine to offer up for a tacky mess of a craft project, but my destruction of literature shames me.
the Cat that I dropped head-first into the sleeve of my father's winter coat to make it look like one of those sandworms from Dune. The cat got stuck for so long that he eventually closed his eyes as if waiting to die. (Don't worry about the cat. He died from unrelated liver failure three years later.)
the Dollar bill on which I made some historic Canadian government type look like Woody Allen. That was uncalled for.
the Elephant I rode when I was eight. I felt bad about it, because he was still a baby and covered in brown fur. No child should have to work long hours in the sun, not even elephant children.
the Fat girl named Inga (or some such name) whom I ignored in swim class, because I was smaller than everyone else and never could have learned any lifesaving skills if I drowned while heaving her down one of the swim lanes. The instructor paired us up anyway when no one else picked us, and I am sure that my lungs were stained green from the amount of chlorine I inhaled that summer.
the Girl at that sleepover party when I was nine who became the target of all our prepubescent aggression. I was usually on the butt end of that kind of scenario, and so I became a little drunk with what petty power was afforded me for that one night.
the Holy water I poured down the drain after it was left in my apartment by a religious fanatic who was concerned about the pagan art my roommate had up on the walls.
the Internet, who/which/what suffers me daily without kicking me in the groin and grinding glass into my food.
the Jello powder (red) that I put inside a shower head in high school to terrify someone who drove me nuts. There are better people upon which you could have found yourself raining down as blood.
the Llama at which I spit back. I am sure she had every right to be annoyed with a fifteen-year-old who kept sticking a hand in her face.
the Motel I stayed at one night when the road conditions kept me from my destination. I avoided a proper checkout, ran like hell from the room to my car at two in the afternoon, and squealed out of the parking lot, because I was scared that they would charge me for another night. Despite that, I still wish I had taken that velvet painting of flamenco dancers.
the Nanny goat I saw on a roof that I threw rocks at on my way to school in grade two. This memory could be a dream, though. Does anybody keep nanny goats on their roofs in large cities?
the Operator I snapped at after I had my wisdom teeth out without freezing. It is not her fault that I was difficult to understand. After all, I had just been through the equivalent of medieval torture and was in no mood to enunciate.
the Poets I occasionally mock when I feel that I am lacking in that department. Just because we are mostly awful does not mean that we are losers. At least we try.
the Queen of England. I noticed that her boobs were quite large, and now I feel compelled to point that out.
the Real Estate agents whose cards I kept losing and/or throwing away. We were only leasing, so I had little interest in helping you to do your job.
the Sandwiches my mother made me in grade ten. I should have taken the time to make them. I know that it is humiliating for them to be marmelade/processed cheese or relish/tomato when they could be something respectable like peanut butter or corned beef/cheddar. I could have saved them from that fate.
the Team spirit thing. It always seems so happy, and I just want to give it a good boot to the kneecaps.
the Ugly people. I am sorry about the twisted joke that is genetics. (By the way, I am kidding. I know ugly people, and they are quite nice.)
the Vegan I met who would not eat mushrooms because fungus is a living thing. I am much more sensitive now than I was then. At least publicly.
the Waterwings I popped on purpose. I had nothing against them. I just wanted to be a big kid that afternoon. As it turned out, I preferred wearing them to swallowing lake water rife with dead minnows.
the X-country skiing instructor. I have said that I hate it often enough, but the fact is that cross-country skiing and I are just a bad fit. It takes too much work for someone like me who prefers not to have to work at things that are supposed to be fun. I am lazy, and I want my fun to be spoon-fed to me.
the Yarn I have left unknit. I would remember to do something with it if I did not have to keep it locked up in a closet. Otherwise, it becomes one with cat poop. Yarn, your time will come, and it will be poop-free and scarf-like, I swear.
the Zither music tape I recorded over with laughter and fart noises in grade twelve when my roommate refused to stop playing it from September onward. I do not necessarily hate the zither, but two solid months of Christmas music on one is too much zither.
I am a participant in Holidailies 2007.