Sooo Sorrrry!!!

Turns out, I'm sorry. Sorry for everything.

A woman plows through a doorway, nearly knocking me over and I say, "I'm sorry"

A man in the grocery line cuts in front of me but looks at me like I'm at fault and so I say, "I'm sorry"

A woman at Anthropologie is hogging an entire aisle in the sale section and as I say "Excuse me" for the second time she finally moves but as I pass I whisper, "I'm sorry"

It's not my fault. None of it is. It's all their fault.

A couple weeks ago, Hoband and I had just arrived in Carmel, CA for a vacation. We were sitting on the beach, watching the sun go down as anticipation for the beginning of our trip grew. 

If you've never been to Carmel Beach at sunset, imagine this:

You're walking down a steep street, flanked by houses that even the richest hobbits would covet. The sloping sidewalk is made of mismatched bricks that go with the flow of swelling tree trucks and persistent moss. All the way down the street, trees act like umbrellas, keeping cool air over your head just so the sun's rays feel that much warmer when they beam on your cheeks. 

Soon, the moss turns to sand and the trees separate. The ground flattens to a brief plateau insisting that there is more ahead if you just walk a little further.
So you do. And there is.
Plunging below your feet in a large but sheltered beach, frosted with rhythmic waves and dogs is a crescent shaped beach.
There are dogs everywhere. Big dogs, fancy dogs, scruffy dogs and tiny dogs. 

The first time we stopped on that plateau we thought, "Is this dog heaven?" but it wasn't, it's just like that there all the time. Beautiful.

So we sat there, on the cool sand, watching the dogs, the people, the children and the waves go about their glorious business like it was just another day of the week. 

Whenever you're there, you want a dog. They're so friendly and happy, so when this scruffy German Shepard mix came up next to me, I was thrilled. You see, my cat hates my guts but loves Hoband and this dog chose me. I pet her on the head and instantly, my voice succombed to a higher register normally reserved for babies or castration. And as quickly as I started oogling, Hoband pushed me, yelling. "Get up! Get up!"

"What a jerk, he doesn't want anyone to love me, not even a stranger's dog," I thought to myself as I glared at him.

"She's peeing!" 

"What?"

"She peed on you!" he clarified.

Quickly a woman ran up to us and asked, "Oh my God, did she just barf on you?"

"No, barf on me? No," I laughed nervously.

"Are you sure it's not on you? I can't believe she did that."

"I'm sure."

"No, she peed all over you coat. Turn around," Hoband said.

I thought to myself, "Stop it. I don't want any trouble. I mean, how inconvenient for this woman that her dog obviously barfs everywhere. Just everyone go away, I'm okay...Oh shit. There's dog piss all over my coat."

The woman said, "Oh my gosh, there is."

I said, "I'm sorry".

And then the woman, with one of those logical minds looked at me and asked, "Why are you sorry?"

Yes. Why the hell was I sorry? Her dog pissed on my favorite coat, whose button I had just repaired the night before. But I hate being a bother, it makes me feel fat and needy so I'd rather just act cool and natural, like I get peed on all the time.

So when the woman offered money to pay for dry cleaning I resisted just enough to be polite and then told her where we were staying. She dropped off 20 bucks and a sweet note about the pee-scapade.

Maybe with time I'll get my "sorrys" in order but until then I'm going to change my automatic response to "You're sorry" because most of the time, someone else should be saying it so I'll do it for them.

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This just happened as I wrote this. Hoband was getting his cereal out of the cabinet when I heard a soft crash. Crispix went everywhere. (Crispix boxes are so big the have to be stored horizontally) I said, "What happened?" He said, "I took the box out and when I turned it around, the bag was open and they all spilled." I said, "Oh." He said, "You never close the bag!" (I don't eat the Crispix. I eat Kashi :)) So in the spirit of this blog I said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I spilled the Crispix."

He's still sweeping.