Guilt Trippin'

Holy shit! I got a burnt by a shame thrower yesterday. Bad.

I was planning on visiting my friend Kellie in Grand Rapids yesterday.

(Lee and Kellie, lookin' all grown up, and slightly deranged)


I canceled via email in the wee morning hours, like a yellow bellied scoundrel. My reasoning was simple: (Arctic cold snap + snow+ icy roads) = difficult travels. I knew it was a pussy excuse, but it seemed rational at the time.

I must've poked a dog in the eye on this one.

When I woke up, I was feeling much better than the night before. Until I opened an email from Kellie. Now, Kellie is neither a Jew nor a mother, but I'll be damned if she didn't secretly train at a Jewish Mother academy. Oy! She pushed the guilt button hard enough to transport me into another dimension. A dimension filled to capacity with chili mac.



Usually, getting me to change my mind is like trying to push a wet rope up a hill. But when a friend says that they're disappointed in me, bought stomach friendly food for me, got hockey tickets (!) for me, stresses how important it is to spend time with the people you care about, and hopelessly sighs via email? Well, this man has a shame limit. And if the shame is valid, I change my tune and rectify my wrong.

So I'm off to visit Kellie today, like I should have done yesterday. I got called out, and now I'm making it right.

And to those who would try to exploit my shame bone, now that the secret is out, you should know something. Guilt trippin' only works on me once a year, per person, and that person has to be a good friend. A person I have farted loudly in front of...see you soon, Kellie!