Citizens of Boulder—and Everywhere—Save Your “Sorries!”
I’ve noticed for a while now how quick people, and especially women, are to say sorry. And for no good reason other than needing to order a glass of water, get out of a huffy pedestrian’s way—basically, for existing.
It’s an unattractive habit. It’s not your fault. It was forced on us as kids. My parents, and a creepy clown named Bubbles, made me say sorry at my tenth birthday party for spraying silly string in my frenimies eye. Don’t be barbaric; use discretion.
Just today, I’ve received five apologies from strangers. One was when I was standing in line behind a gal to fill up my water bottle. “Sorreeeeeyyy,” she said. I once drank water rung from cow dung. I’m glad this supply comes from a metal spurt. Don’t. Say. You. Are. Sorry.
The day will come when the 25 square miles of Boulder will experience reality.
Save your sorry for then, please. For the black bears, Martians and dooms-dayers, you’ll have to excuse your existence in a big way.
Here’s my point.
Your parents got together after lots of eye contact and thought (or didn’t) and decided (or not) that it would be a good idea to bring you into this world. So you’re here now—yay—and we all have to carry on like we know what we’re doing. So please stop apologizing for existing.
Unless you’re Bubbles the Clown. Then you should be sorry for every last breath you take.
Editor: Lynn Hasselberger
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