The Magical Apology Tour

I’m sorry. Sorry that I said it. Sorry that I thought it. Sorry that you thought I said it. Sorry that I didn’t say it, but you said that I said it. What a thought. Again, sorry. You must know by now that I didn’t really mean it. It was a little joke. It was less than joke. A fleeting, second-long, barely comprehensible witticism. The same amount of thinking went into it as goes into swatting a moth. I now realize I should think twice before striking a moth. What about their families, their lives, their family lives? I blame my upbringing, as long as we’re blaming individuals and abstract concepts. I grew up in a home where chewing cashmere was a capital crime. The sins of sweater destruction were not something we could ever overlook. But I will now. I’ll install more bug lights around my property and switch to leather, an eminently smarter material.

I can’t believe it. You must understand. I’ll do whatever it takes. If groveling is appropriate, I can grovel. If you think it’s a little too Fallonesque in its obsequiousness, then I can just as easily not grovel. Doesn’t grovel sound like a specific shovel designed for gravel? I don’t know what I’m saying. This whole thing has gotten me so confused and bewildered. Mistakes tend to do that.

I’ll do some charity work. I’ll write a check. Or not. Since writing a check could be seen as manipulative. I’m okay with cash, too. I’ll speak to a group of people about my ordeal, never making excuses or putting things in context. I’ll attend dinner parties and happy hours, only schmoozing when absolutely necessary. I won't eat. You won't even know I'm there, except for the hour long struggle session I plan on giving once the cocktail weenies are plated.

I know intent doesn’t matter. It can’t. I didn’t mean for any offense. Then again, I didn’t mean to overcook the cipollinis and look at them now, carbonized beyond recognition. Without dental records, you’re just going to have to take my word for it that they were once esteemed members of the onion family.    

Please know that I’m sorry. I know that it didn’t affect you personally (how could it?) but if you could find it in your heart to forgive me, that’d really get me out of a bind right now. I owe you big time, though I’m still unsure exactly why. I'm so sorry.

Apologies like this don’t come from the heart. They come from the crack team down at J.S. Desole, who work around the clock crafting the best apologies money can buy. The only thing you’ll be sorry about is that you didn’t hire them sooner.