Friday, March 22, 2013

At Least I Didn't Get My Initials Engraved On It

She comes very close, rests her hands gently on my arm, looks deep into my eyes with love and compassion, and says, "You know I didn't want that Bluetooth speaker you bought me. You wanted that."

And of course I know she's absolutely right, though I am only realizing it just this second. I struggle to keep my screaming, guilty ego under control, but the only thing I can hear amidst the hot wet undertow of shame is a small voice in my head, saying, "Oh my God, I'm Homer fucking Simpson."

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