Ahem… I’d like to extend my abject apologies

Okay, I’m not going to blog every day.  And yes, I am in the middle of an edit.  But I can’t keep my mind on it because I am consumed with guilt. 

I shouldn’t have said that the Ptolemy guy was weird.

It doesn’t matter that I was worried that my daughter wouldn’t have proper food to eat.  It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know how many foods were actually in some of those short stories. 

That is my short-coming, not his.  This is especially embarrassing, because I actually read short stories.  Tons of them.  There have been many periods in my life when I prefer short stories to novels.  And when I find an author of short stories that speaks to me, I devour whatever collections I can find. 

So, how could I have read reams and reams of short stories and not retained enough to know that there could be short stories that contain LOTS of food? 

What kind of reader must I be?  I bet a lot of the short stories I’ve already read have loads of food consumed or mentioned in them and I just don’t remember.

Now, you need to know that in our family, the calling someone weird, is not an insult.  It is more an acknowledgement of a fact.  Our family is weird.  All of us.  Some of us weirder than others.  But the Ptolemy guy doesn’t know that.  And to be truthful, I wasn’t saying he was weird in a cozy sort of way, I was worried about my daughter so I was flailing out.

Darn.  Why did I have to admit that?

I guess because if I’m going to apologize, I better do it right.  Not let myself off the hook in a half-truth.

I am sorry I leapt to judgement, Ptolemy.  I’m sorry I accidentally misspelled your name.  And then when my husband mentioned it to me, I went back and corrected it, and apparently I misspelled it again, just in a different way.  I finally got it right, but I am sorry for getting it wrong.  Twice.  And I bet that happens to you all the time, and it must get tiring.  And I’m sorry that I wondered if it was your real name or an acquired one.  That, I should have kept to myself.  And for those of you who are wondering, it is his real name.  I got it from a very good source.  My daughter who knows a friend of his. 

Not only that, but his week seems to be going WAY more smoothly than my week did.  She’s having fun, instead of spending torturous hours in the dentist’s chair.

Okay.  I’m glad I got that off my chest! 

Bye everybody.  I’m back to my edits.  And by the way, if you haven’t gone to my daughter’s site, the guy’s full name is Ptolemy Tompkins and he is an author, so if you are interested, check out his books, who knows, maybe they’ll be something you’ll want to buy.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Saturday, July 18, 2009 in Chewing the Fat

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