I'm Sorry

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Immature-me…

Has been acting like a juvenile lately—in her head at least…you know how it is…eye rolls…dirty looks…whispers behind your back but more like in your face kind of thing…

It’s not nice…she knows it’s not nice…and now she’s found it’s unwarranted and deep down in her gut—knows she needs to apologize…

It all started with dishrags…new dishrags…use them for a few weeks and suddenly they’re tacky, gummy, no amount of washing resolves the issue…have to throw them out and go buy more…

Searched for the cause…came to one conclusion and the battle began…one of us suddenly had an enemy…and he shall be called—Fried Meat…

Fried Meat…greasy skillet…HOT greasy skillet…splatters everywhere…one of us loves Fried Meat…can’t get enough of Fried Meat…the other cleans up after Fried Meat—and she was sure it was he who was ruining rag after rag…

Until Texas…those Texas dishrags playing the same icky-sticky-ooey-gooey game and one thing’s for sure, there’s no Fried Meat in Texas…at least not Fried Meat in that kitchen in Texas…

Don’t cook much in that cabin…especially don’t fry much in that cabin…and that’s when the real trouble-maker was discovered…

Artificial sugar…those little used packets always on the counter…tiny sprinkles of the stuff here and there…one of us wiping, wiping, always wiping…

But it’s hard to be mad at Artificial Sugar…those packets so friendly…so positive…always saying something nice as they’re picked up and thrown away…

Whether it’s sincere or not is hard to say…anyone who’s ever been in a junior high spat knows that word ‘fake’ gets thrown around a time or two…

And something about ‘Artificial’ Sugar…gives the impression that all those niceties…might not be real…
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And Fried Meat…agrees…