All Apologies

I have, at times, been a chronic apologizer.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

"Oh, I'm sorry...Damnit!"

Like many women, I have apologized for things beyond my control. Like a rainy day ruining a plan, or someone else not doing well on a test. 

Tad, on the other hand, is not a fan of apologies, heartfelt or otherwise.  And he especially dislikes it when I get mad at him and then later apologize for being mad.

"Stop apologizing. You can be mad at me."

"I'm sorry...oh CRAP!" 

But he has a special way of apology that makes light of whatever argument or conflict we were having and I think I finally understood how to do it this morning.

So first let me explain Tad's method of apology.  On the Ikea night, (You can read about that here) we argued about the fact that I chose to spend all night putting two beds together even though it was seventy degrees outside and sunny.  Simply put, it was something I wanted done immediately and something Tad wanted done far in the undetermined future.  And though it was a tense night which carried out into the next morning, Tad came and gave me a warm hug goodbye on the kids' school playground.  As he embraced me, he said into my ear, "I'm sorry you had to put two beds together last night."

See how that works? HE is apologizing for something for which he thinks I might be to blame.  Impressive, huh?

So Coen's going to be in a play this week, more on that in another post and there are play T-shirts for sale at school.  Tad and I simultaneously, but unbeknownst to each other ordered T-shirts for our whole family.

When I was in New York, I sent Tad a long text explaining that I ordered shirts for all of us and to bring a check for $30 to play practice.  Tad, apparently only read, "bring a check" and texted back "It's already by the coffee maker" and I was impressed with his on-top-of-it-ness. 

When I came home, I asked him what size he got me and he said something like "I'm sorry if I got you the wrong size. They were very boxy shirts."  But I noticed that I was only seeing three shirts floating around, and I assumed his was in his closet or something. Finally this morning we had this conversation:
Me: What size shirt did you get me?
Tad: I don't know. You can take whichever one works for you.

Me: Well, who's shirt is on the dresser? That big one?
Tad: Mine.

Me: Okay, and where's Lucy's

Tad: That's the other one on the dresser.

Me: Okay, wait. How many shirts did you buy?

Tad: Three

Me: So you didn't buy me a shirt! Why didn't you just tell me?  How much did you pay for them?

Tad: I don't know.

Me: You don't KNOW?

Tad: I don't know.

Me: *heavy sigh* Why didn't you just tell me you didn't buy me a shirt.  And if you paid $30, then you DID buy me a shirt, you just didn't get it. 

Tad: I paid for three shirts

Me: Coen's shirt was free.

Tad: Okay, I paid for two shirts then. 

Me: Okay, let's start from the beginning

Tad: (getting up) No! no! I don't want to start from the beginning

Me: Well, why didn't you just tell me that you only bought three shirts?

Tad: I guess the question you should have asked in the first place would be 'how many shirts did you get'

Here, I made a very frustrated and annoying noise and then we both laughed.

Here, we also came to understand that Tad didn't really pay attention to my message and he just assumed I didn't want one. And that when he saw the boxiness of the shirts, he assumed I would not want one.

When I left for work after all this discussion, I hugged him close and said in his ear, "I'm sorry you forgot to buy me a shirt."

Tad laughed. "You finally got the apology game down!"

I know this was a very long and possibly pointless post.  If this feels like the case for you, I'm sorry you took time out to read it.

Not really though.