I heard from thousands of -- would you believe hundreds of? -- all right, dozens of blog regulars that I have been neglecting my duties .... Well, actually, I heard from my mom. So here I am, eyes downcast, shuffling my feet and saying sorry. The word comes easily to me. It's natural, part of my heritage. Canadians are born with apologies in their mouths. I was walking up 5th Avenue in Manhattan last summer, and almost bumped into what looked like a fast-striding New Yorker. No fault involved, but both of us said Sorry at the same time, and then smiled.
Toronto, I said.
Halifax, until a few years ago, she said.
And we were continued on our two different ways.
Is saying sorry polite behaviour? It sounds polite. But I don't if it counts in your favour if it's something you do automatically, and don't mean. Because, you know, I am kind of lying here. I am not really sorry for not blogging more. I have been busy. My in-basket is still teetering.
I haven't had time for blogging.
Oooh, funny story though. I was in Victoria hanging out with a friend of a friend who owns a clothing and sporting goods store. I'm meeting this guy for the first time and he's a super guy, warm and generous and successful, and he's trying to get me to buy stuff in one of his stores so he can give me a great deal -- and I am not helping. I am such a bad shopper. I mean, my coat cost me 3.00 at a second-hand store. I had to tell Todd that 150.00 jeans for 40.00 was a great deal, thank you thank you, but not really my style. I did end up buying a pair of runners at a ridiculously good price because I do try to stay fit, and when I jog my regular twenty kilometres my feet will thank me. Did I say twenty -- would you believe ten? Five? One? Would you believe down to the end of the block to buy licorice?
Sorry for all the exaggerations.