I want to sincerely and honestly apologize for saying, “Sorry, not sorry.” Not because I didn’t mean it—Jenna, those tights make your thighs look like spinach dip and it needed to be said—I’m sorry because I’ve now entered into an apology spiral that has left the word “sorry” devoid of meaning.
Sure, I could have just said nothing. But saying, “Sorry, not sorry” absolves me of the annoying social convention of caring about your feelings. It’s a real time saver! Plus, it shows people that I’m real and I tell it like it is. But how could I have known one little bitchy comment would lead me down this dark road where words have ceased to have meaning?
At first, I wasn’t sorry about saying, “Sorry, not sorry.” But I also wasn’t genuinely sorry for not being sorry. In essence, I was only being honest about my remorse for my lack of remorse, but I realize now that the only thing I am sorry about is the fact that my cool, disaffected attitude has left me devoid of the ability to feel empathy toward other humans. So, sorry for not being sorry for saying sorry not sorry. I mean sorry. Not. Wait, sorry.
Jenna, I’m sorry I said “sorry not sorry”. I’m sorry I’m not sorry for saying sorry not sorry. Or not. Am I sorry? What is “sorry,” anyway? And while we’re at it, how is “what” and who is “I?” I am in an existential nightmare with no sense of regret or self. Sorry.
But I’m not actually sorry. Or am I? Sorry. Sorry not sorry. Jenna, please touch me so that I know I exist. Take off those tights first, though. Seriously, you look like shit, Jenna.
Sorry. Actually, you know what? I’m not. Sorry.
