April 24th, 2005 | brainjuice
I’m sorry I came in your shoes.
I’m sorry I hung your teddy bear from the light fitting and then pointed the anglepoise lamp at it so the first thing you saw when you came home was little Bear Paws swinging from his noose in silhouette on the wall.
I’m sorry about that thing with your chinchilla and the bellows. But I have to point out that it was me who wiped everything off the wallpaper, and your sister did get the fur out of her teeth.
I’m sorry I pissed in the steam iron.
I’m sorry about putting that half a horse from the road accident in the back of your car. But in my defense I thought you might, I dunno, find it useful for something.
I’m sorry I left that half a horse in the back of your car for two weeks.
I’m sorry about your mother almost choking to death on the condom, though I still don’t think it was my fault.
I’m sorry about your mother almost choking to death on the used condom a month later. That might have been my fault, yeah.
I’m sorry I pissed in the washing machine.
I’m sorry about that whole thing with the harpoon gun, the fishing line and the, you know, the string of dogs.
I’m sorry I made you help me stand the dogs in line.
I’m sorry I threw up in the carrot bread mix and didn’t tell anyone.
I’m sorry about exploding those frogs with your drinking straws and then putting them back in the drawer without telling you. Or rinsing them.
I’m sorry I pissed in your sister. On your sister. On. Really. On your sister.
I’m sorry about all these things, and anything else you can think of, and I really really love you and I want you to take me back.
And, um. I’m sorry the back of your house is on fire.