I’m Sorry.

Is it too late now to say sorry? No? Oh, well in that case…

I’m sorry(ish) to the man I fled from on a date by coercing a member of bar staff into sneaking me out through the kitchen.

I’m sorry for splashing my best friend with water in the school bathrooms, resulting in her straightened hair reverting to natural curls. Hopefully you don’t still think I’m “a slut”.

I’m sorry to my Food Technology teacher for collating a pros and cons list of the boys I fancied when I should have been doing coursework.

I’m sorry for throwing a tantrum in the middle of Chelmsford high street because my mum wouldn’t buy me a Hello Kitty notepad from Claire’s Accessories.

I’m sorry for wearing Maybelline Dream Matte Mousse in a shade three times darker than my natural skin tone.

I’m sorry for dropping the biscuits my friend paid £8 to import onto the floor of our old office.

I’m sorry to my cousin for snatching the mouse toy she won in a Christmas cracker and proceeding to claim ownership to our family.

I’m sorry that I made my mum pick out every individual pea from my egg fried rice and for refusing to eat it if she failed to do so.

I’m sorry for slapping my friend in a music class at secondary school because I misheard her.

I’m sorry to my dad for that time he put me on his shoulders and I dug my nails into his bald head because he wouldn’t put me down.

I’m sorry for spilling red nail varnish all over my parents’ blue carpet, three days after it had been laid.

I’m sorry to that boy I insulted last Friday night by concluding his Scouse accent was the reason why he failed to pick up girls.

I’m sorry for singing about my brother’s teenage acne to the theme tune of a cartoon.

I’m sorry for that time I accidentally stood on my cat’s tail.

I’m sorry that I once arranged a date and then napped through it.

I’m sorry that I sometimes stalk Kylie Jenner’s Instagram feed.

I’m sorry for telling my mum that I was at a friend’s house every time I was drinking Strongbow at the skatepark as a teen.

I’m sorry for giving that boy a nose bleed on the school bus because he bet that I couldn’t.

I’m sorry for giving up violin lessons because my teacher smelt like fish and I didn’t like standing up for an hour.

I’m sorry that I didn’t help my brother up when a boxer dog mounted and humped him at a children’s party.

I’m sorry for ghosting men I’ve met on Tinder and Happn.

I’m sorry to the woman my grandma called a lesbian because she had short hair.

I’m sorry for promising my mum I wouldn’t get anymore tattoos or piercings and then getting more tattoos and piercings.

I’m sorry for that time my school friend and I sang the lyrics to Outkast, Roses, to a girl named Caroline and made her cry in a geography class.

I’m sorry that I still exist to the girls that passionately dislike me (sorry, not sorry).

I’m sorry that I’ve let people get away with making unoriginal jokes about my height.

I’m sorry that I sometimes share selfies on social media sites.

I’m sorry for maxing out a credit card on designer handbags and Topshop clothes.

I’m sorry to my younger self for cutting my own fringe and for my mullet that put Russell Brand to shame.

I’m sorry to my Catholic family for failing to believe that religion isn’t just a story made up by a group of men seeking dolla dolla bill, y’all.

I’m sorry for ever using the term “gay lord”.

I’m sorry to anyone who reads my articles only to realise it was written about them.

giphy (1)


Images via Giphy.

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Ramblings of things I think about. Some insightful, some not so.

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