I apologize too much
This is possibly my most irritating trait to date.
I find myself apologizing for things that are out of my control like, “I’m sorry your wife won’t blow you more.”
“I’m sorry your 17-year-old son has the vocabulary of a five-year old.”
And really, “I’m sorry I took so long. I’m sorry I’m short. I’m sorry I am five minutes late. I’m sorry the sun doesn’t shine on your ass.”
I apologize for everything. It is disgusting. I have never once met a man who did this–apologizing like a fool all the time. We women are just taught to not be too X, Y, or Z, so I guess we have become accustomed to apologizing. Maybe it’s because we also say on occasion, rude stuff that we then passive-aggressively (not a word) apologize for.
We have been socially constructed to be polite and empathetic people. Women are told to “be good girls,” and ” to be nice.” We hear this from the second we hit preschool. It is part of the expectation that as a female, we will be “good” and “nice,” and therefore, we must apologize when we have not held ourselves up to this standard and expectation. When we fall short from the “good, nice” female role, we must apologize for falling short from these expectations.
But my apologizing is at a whole other level of BS.
There are a million reasons why I may be saying, “sorry darling.”
Here are a few of those reasons.
I don’t like people to be mad at me. Growing up around fighting is enough to make a person anxious about any type of confrontation, even if it’s a mild-level confrontation. I would rather avoid those issues, than fall prey to an argument. Just take my apology, and let’s move on, even if I barely did anything. Even if I just breathed the wrong way, and I saw you raise your eyebrow slightly.
I. Saw. That. Eyebrow! This could mean trouble…to head it off at the pass, I apologize.
I say I am sorry because I have the burdensome amount of guilt that not even the Mega Jewish mother of the world could hold without her tits sagging right into her Star of David. My guilt isn’t even from the fact that my dad is Jewish, and mom was catholic pre her conversion to Judaism.
I just have this guilt. Maybe it’s sexual abuse guilt. Maybe it’s low self-esteem guilt. Maybe it’s mother’s guilt, or maybe I am just like quite a few other women, and simply feel guilty for sharing my feelings and opinions like men do.
I know it’s 2013, but guess what mo-fo’s? Not everyone gets that. Some people–some men–feel like a woman’s opinion is just not the same as a man’s. I find myself apologizing at times when I am revealing way more than I suspect the person wants to hear. If you read my blog about meek women, you know I probably do this a bit more often than the average bear.
I apologize because I want people to feel I care about their needs. I know a few people who seem to be so shut off from their emotions–or maybe they don’t even have any? (that I doubt)– that I find myself apologizing to even these folks if I feel their feelings may have been hurt. Rather than making someone ask me to apologize for some unintentional slight I may have done, such as being five minutes late, or forgetting to offer him or her a drink, I apologize so that the person knows that I know I’m a schmuck.
And that may just be the heart of my story folks. I sometimes, think I am a schmuck. I undermine myself and forget to value who I am deep at heart, maybe because I have often been dwindled down by people who felt so bad about themselves that they figured, “Hey, why don’t I let someone else join me in my little misery pot?”
Here are a few things I apologize for, in case this blog offends or bores someone.
I am sorry for: maxi pads that are too bulky; quickies in which one person doesn’t come; being boring; complaining; writing nonsense that no one gives a shit about; the economy; my occasional need to interrupt (okay, if you speak slowly, maybe a bit more than occasionally); my boobs; my kid’s loud mouth; my loud mouth; my family’s collective sound of loudness; my non-hybrid vehicle; my cooking; my vagina–actually wait, she’s kinda cute; my former commercials that may have been lame; any bad sets I had as a stand-up; cheesy jokes involving my last name; picking my wedgie when everyone is looking.
I hope that suits you all.
If not, I’m so fucking sorry.