I’m sorry for this weekend when we were sitting next to each other on a very full flight and I shouted, “I WILL SAY FUCK IF I WANT TO, DAMNIT. THIS BITCH IS GOING DOWN.” I’m sorry I made the guy next to me choke on his drink when I said it. In my defense, the plane was going the fuck down.
I’m sorry of the time we were asked to leave TJ Maxx because they thought my interpretive posing of clothing options was inappropriate. I’m sorry that the outfit the manager caught me in was a hot-pink, zebra-striped, ribbed and knitted onesie. I’m sorry I lost the pictures of that event.
I’m sorry for when I was 6 and I clogged up your ceiling fan by tossing my underpants into it. However, when I timed it right and the panties were whipped into your face while you slept, it was the funniest shit I have ever seen.
I’m sorry for that time you had to save my life while tubing down the Guadalupe River and after 9 hours of beers I took a header down some rocks and sliced my belly all up. I’m sorry I was less concerned about my life and much more concerned about my flip-flop. I’m sorry I stood up out of the river before I knew what happened, making me look like a murder victim, and made some girl on the riverbank throw up. I’m not sorry for the kickass scar I got for doing that.
Sorry for saying, “But Grace, no one will look at the BACK of my head,” in Jr. High. I know how embarrassed you were to be seen with me and my horrific nest of shitty hair. That’s why I did it.
I’m sorry for the time I told the waitress in La Hacienda that “the fajitas smell like balls” and that “it’s hotter than a yeti’s nutsack in this joint.” She laughed, though.
Sorry for that time when you gave me a wedgie AND MY PANTIES RIPPED AND INSTEAD I JUST WENT ROCKETING FACE-FIRST TO THE FLOOR AND ALMOST BROKE MY NOSE.
I’m sorry for that time I laughed at you when you were attacked by a goose while driving to school. I’m sorry I didn’t even try to help because the image of you, covered in feathers and screaming in abject horror remains one of my fondest memories of you. HONK HONK, YOU CRAZY BITCH.
I’m sorry for the time you fell asleep on Spaceship Earth at DisneyWorld (the most boring ride in the world) and I woke you up by fake-screaming in terror as we rounded a corner into a very dark room filled with animatronic Egyptians. I’m not sorry that for about 5 seconds, you thought we went back in time.
I’m sorry for that time we sang spirituals in mouse voices, followed by Robert Goulet voices, followed by the voice of someone with severe voice-box damage for 5 hours on a trip home from New Mexico. Sorry I keep texting you excerpts of those songs to remind you. (“Swing looooooooooowwwwwwwww.”)
I’m sorry that when you were watching me when I was 5, I, while in the nude, evaded capture by you for 2 hours by systematically hiding around the house followed by periods of sprinting madly throughout the neighborhood.
Sorry for the time we met our stepbrothers for the first time and I made it my personal mission to make you incredibly uncomfortable by saying the most terrible things possible. I’m not sorry for the fact that our stepbrothers are fucking rad and thought it was awesome.
I’m sorry I spent an entire road trip shouting terrible things and weird noises at your OnStar system, and now it no longer asks you anything because it’s had enough of my shit.
Sorry I taught Siri to address you as “Dick McPickle” instead of your real name.
I’m sorry for the years I spent thinking you were so lame, because you are my very best friend now. And that’s as nice to you as I’ll ever be.
Love and Nutsacks,
Are you sorry for anything to your siblings or your best friends?
—Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Monica: “Poor Bo Peep. That happened to me once.”