a place called little

the fourth installment in a week-long series exploring the rituals of apologizing

i live in a little town in a little state in a big country.  five days a week, i drive my little car from my little house to a little office where i work for a little man with a big opinion of himself and a little opinion of me.   on the weekends, i putter in my little vegetable garden, go for a swim in the little indoor lap pool in our little community center, and come home to put on my little black dress for a big night out.

my little group of friends tells me i have a little problem with apologizing a little too much, which is a big deal to me.  so i got the big idea to keep a little log of all my apologies yesterday for the little space of two hours, when i was doing a little work, a little emailing, and a little grocery shopping.  it reads like this:

ooh, sorry.  pardon me.  sorry.  oh, excuse me.  i'm so sorry.  oops, i'm sorry.  i apologize.  i didn't mean to--yes, i'm sorry.  yikes, what a jerk i am.  i'm sorry.  could i just--yes, i'm sorry.  apologies apologies.  sorry, sir.  i'm just sorry as i can be.  oh crap.  sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry.

it looks like i have some big changes to make.