How long is too long?
I read an interesting article this afternoon on the Metro News, whilst trying to forget about the washed out, pink bedding mishap. A burglar has sent a written apology and a cheque for one hundred pounds to a pub landlady in Cheshire, in relation to a crime she committed twenty two years ago! It's that long ago that the pub owner openly admits she barely remembers it. This has caused me to ask myself a very big question; how long should we wait before we say sorry? We have all at some point in our lives done something wrong to someone, whether it be telling our parents as a child that we hate them, breaking someone's heart because of poor choices we made or maybe something worse. I think it's important to always apologise, eventually, but how long do we wait? Also, what makes us wait? Is it fear of how the other person concerned may react, fear of rejection and our sorry being thrown back in our face or is it just simply pride? I am quite guilty of the latter and would often in the past write people out of my life over things that had been said rather than try to fix it. Recently, I reunited with my friend Kat after almost three years of us not speaking over what we have now decided was petty. Luckily, Kat came to me and we both apologised and will be able to look back in years to come and laugh about the things we said. Not everyone is so lucky and it's taken this to show me that sometimes you do have to let your guard down, hold your hands up and say "sorry". So my challenge for my readers is this. If you know that you have recently upset or hurt someone, whether on purpose or not and you have been meaning to say the dreaded 's' word, do it. Don't wait for a day, a week, a year or like the lady in this article - 22 years. Thanks for reading.
It's that realisation of screwing up and having to watch your mistake play out in front of your very own eyes that gets me every time. You know you have messed up and now it plays with your head a little; twisting that knife in just a little further. Sat cross legged facing the washing machine, head sinking into my hands I watch my white bed sheet turn a baby shade of pink. There is nothing I can do but wait. Trapped in a swirling, vortex prison it sloshes around happily in pink foam. There was absolutely no coming back from this. This pretty much sums up my life.