The S Word

IF YOU WANT to keep the peace in any kind of relationship, it is inevitable at some point
that you’re going to have to suck it up and say you’re sorry. Apologizing is rarely easy, but daunting
though the task may be, there are definitely degrees of difficulty on the Remorse-o-Meter.

“Sorry I left a floater”not too hard.

“Sorry I was a complete and utter scumbag”slightly tougher,
but definitely doable.

“Sorry I may or may not have raped you and, through my legal team, implied
all manner of horrible things about your character, released your name, as well as your sexual and
psychiatric histories, to the media”Well, apologizing for that effectively
is apparently impossible. Of course I’m speaking of Kobe Bryant’s half-assed, blame-deflecting,
attorney-scripted excuse for an apology, issued to the woman he was accused of raping. Note the
apology came only after she decided not to cooperate with prosecutors.

Now if, as he claims, he didn’t force himself on this woman, why apologize?
Dropping four-mill on a gigantor purple diamond seems to have bought Mrs. Kobe’s forgivenesswhy
apologize to someone he claims is a big liar? Most people, when falsely accused of a crime, do not
express regret for that which they didn’t do. In fact, I’d bet that most folks would be pretty cranky
about the whole thing. But not our Kobe.

“Although this year has been incredibly difficult for me personally,
I can only imagine the pain she has had to endure,” Kobe magnanimously lamented.

Poor widdle baby, you had a rough year! Wah! The duplicitous dribbler
goes on to graciously admit, “Although I truly believe this encounter between us was consensual,
I recognize now that she did not and does not view this incident the same way I did.” Really? What gave
you that impression? The big scary police officers who put you in handcuffs?

Although the Kobe Scenario is an extreme example, most of us are completely
lame when it comes to expressing remorseespecially toward those we are getting naked with. Despite what the soppy 70s hit, Love Story, would have us believe, love does mean having to say you’re sorry. Having been on both sides of any number of infuriating apologies-gone-wrong,
I’ve jotted down a few rules to grovel by:

Accept responsibility for your fuck-up. Do not ever add the dread disclaimer to the end of your apology. Disclaimers are generally preceded by a “but”
and quickly followed by a lame excuse for said bad behavior. An example: “I’m so sorry I stole your
car, totaled it and killed an innocent pedestrian in the process, but that bartender kept
buying me shots, and you know how rambunctious I get when I’m liquored up!”

It is, however, important to keep your responsibility in check.
I’m talking about the urge to throw yourself a pity party. Resist. “Of course I fucked everything
upI’m a horrible person. I don’t know why you even waste one second of your life with me. I
am a zit on the Earth’s ass. I am the worst, most sorriest excuse for a human being ever.” Spare me.
It’s not your victim’s job to make you feel better. You suck. Otherwise you wouldn’t be begging
forgiveness.

Do not apologize for how the person you hurt feelsask
forgiveness for your actions. Example: “I’m sorry if what I said upset you” or “I’m sorry you feel
that way” may sound like apologies, but they’re not. What you’re actually saying is, “I’m sorry
you’re such a hyper-sensitive asswipe.” See? Your “apology” is actually an insult.

Realize that sometimes your transgression is so deep, so horrid,
that sorry doesn’t mean shit. In cases like these, just hide the sharp objects and automatic weapons,
issue the apology and run like hell.

If at all possible, make amends. Obviously, you can’t unfuck
her sister, but if it was her favorite blouse you fouled, offer to buy her a new one.

Sincerity is key. If you aren’t feeling it, don’t say it. There
is nothing more ass-chapping than an unrepentant fool pretending otherwise.

Gifts may help your cause, but they may also prolong the agony.
Every time Kobe’s wife looks at that four-million-dollar ring, it is a very pricey reminder that
at best her husband is a philanderous shitbag; at worst, a rapist. I had a boyfriend send a dozen roses
to my office after a particularly nasty argument. While moderately touched by the gesture, their
presence also had the effect of transporting me right back to our fight. On my ride home that evening,
a nice gentleman plopped himself into the seat next to me and smiled at my flowers.

“Somebody did good,” he remarked sunnily. The dark clouds moved in and
my head started to throb. “Actually, somebody did really, really bad, which is why I got
these,” I growled, telling him way more than he wanted to know. The nice gentleman’s eyes
widened and he started to back away. “This is the FTD ‘I’ve Been a Fucking Jackass’ bouquet!” I informed
him with a snarl.

I scared that poor man right off the subway, and for that I apologize.
No, really! o