Mea Culpa's

I’m starting to wonder if all my chemo has warped my mind.  I admit I am a glass half full kind of gal. I also like things done a certain way. Actually, it’s more than like; I need to have things done a certain way. Some folks I know wouldn’t hesitate to say “a place for everything and everything in its place” is my mantra. I also like all the proper social rules followed when it comes to doing things for others.

But, lately, I seem to be continually crossing the line when it comes to my expectations of others actions.  Last night there was a huge row at our house and it was entirely my fault. I’m afraid I gave my poor hubby “nine kinds of hell” because I disagreed with how he chose to sign a birthday card, of all things.

Sweetie, I know I’m terrible at admitting fault and saying “I’m Sorry” so please accept this very public apology.  You had every reason to be upset. 

(Well, it wasn’t entirely your fault, Love. If I am so full of wisdom at my advanced age, why didn’t I just sign the darn thing and be done with it. Then, there is that law of nature that women must have the last word.  Usually, I am fine with it but last night I went where no rational man ever goes and tried to have that last word myself.  I should have known I was flying directly in the face of nature and a tradition going back, at least, to the Stone Age. As long as we don’t go to bed mad and you still don’t complain about my cold feet, we are fine.)