Missing My Husband

Pornographic ichat is not only insufficient, it feels kind of dopey, especially since I just saw the very terrific movie, Closer. I expected to loath that movie, but I thought it was fabulous. It has a sex-chat in it.

I dropped the kids (the older two) at Spongebob with a sitter and went to see my own movie. The best part of the day, however, was when I was parking. I told the sitter (a highschool student) to watch out her window and tell me if I got too close to the big, huge, massive cement pole. I watched the car in front of me. Ten seconds later, SMASH. I looked over at her and she says, "Oh." Just, "Oh." "Didn't you see that?" I say, horrified at the HUGE SCRATCH on my car. "No." That's all. Not, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry." Just, "No."

Here's the thing. When you screw up, your job is to apologize profusely, even hysterically. Then it's MY JOB to forgive you. That's what I do when I make a mistake. I immediately throw myself on my sword, beg forgiveness, and plead for whomever I have offended to accept my apology. If nothing else, it's a good technique to circumvent rage. You sort of nip it in the bud. And, it's the decent thing to do.

Sigh.

Oh well. It's just a car, right?