I recently invited my friend Rachel over to drink Raz-Ber-Ritas and watch The Millionaire Matchmaker, but I was coming home straight from work so I didn’t have time to tidy. As soon as she arrived, I started profusely apologizing for my room being such a mess. But here’s the truth: I wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit.
“I’m sorry my room is such a mess,” I said as I opened my bedroom door. “It’s just such a mess. I’m sorry. Ugh. I’m sorry my room is such a mess. My room. Sorry.”
My mouth kept repeating these words, but my heart felt differently. Maybe because I didn’t want my friend to judge me for the parmesan Goldfish crumbs all over my sheets or the jean shorts all over my floor, or maybe I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable sitting next to a pile of old makeup I’d stolen in high school then forgotten to throw away for the next nine years. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t stop saying sorry.
But I was lying. I didn’t care at all and I wasn’t sorry. How was this possible?
I know I’m not a sociopath because one time I cried when I saw a woman drop her seltzer on the subway. So shouldn’t I be sorry that my room was such a mess? I thought about this question before my thoughts were interrupted by me saying, “Sorry my room is such a mess” yet again.
“No worries,” Rachel assured me after I’d apologized for my room being such a mess again. “Honestly you should see my room.” But I have seen her room, and it’s not as messy as mine. Yet she had also apologized for her room being a mess when I had seen it. What was really going on here?!
Rachel’s casual dismissal of my intense and pointless apologies didn’t make me stop. I continued to apologize for my room being such a mess, even though my belongings being scattered around the room that I pay to live is not wrong. It’s not like I promised Rachel my room would be clean. We weren’t even going to hang out in my room!
And that’s when I realized: I wasn’t sorry at all. I wasn’t at all bothered by the fact that she was forced to sit on a pile of winter jackets I forgot to put away. I wasn’t even sorry there was a box on the floor.
Am I even a woman?
I didn’t tell that to Rachel because I didn’t want to seem like I’m just okay with being disgusting. To be honest, I’m okay with her never knowing the truth. So I will definitely continue falsely apologizing to anyone who sees my room for the rest of my life. I’m sorry!!
