How to Apologize to Your Girlfriend

"You're late," she said quietly.

I nodded guiltily. I knew tardiness was one of the few things she couldn't stand. I racked my mind for excuses, but I didn't have any. I'd overslept, thanks to my "trusty" alarm clock. I wasn't a morning person. Maybe I should have gone to bed earlier, not watched that movie with my friends, not help out the new kids who'd arrived last night, not surfed the net for...

I kicked myself. No excuses. This wasn't the first time, either.

"Can I make it up to you somehow?" Silly question, really. I thought it would show her how sorry I was, but the moment it left my mouth I realized that I was only asking because I didn't know how to apologize. And asking the girl you'd wronged for advice on how to correct a wrong was insensitive and unintelligent, to say the least. I winced inwardly.

"Try to," she replied. Then she turned and walked away.

I watched her retreating back, trying to make sense of her words. My lack of sleep did not aid my inner disorientation. "I love you," I shouted after her, but she didn't acknowledge it. I saw her make the tiniest shake of her head, but she kept on walking.

Nice way of showing her that you do, an inner voice said wryly. I kicked myself again. Of course she wouldn't appreciate a declaration of love right now. My poor choices of words weren't helping. I needed an EQ boost.

I sat down and wracked my brains. How could I possibly make up for being late again? It's not like I hadn't done it before, and in all probability I'd do it again. A simple "I'm sorry, I won't do it again" note wouldn't suffice, and would most likely be dishonest, too. How do you apologize for a character failing?

I snapped my fingers. Flowers. Six red roses. The universal "I messed up but I still love you" indicator. I hurried over to the florist, but they were closed. I pounded on the door in the hope that somebody, anybody, would aid me in my desperation. The woman inside glanced at me, rolled her eyes, and pointed to a sign above that said, "FLOWERS = INSINCERE APOLOGY. GO AWAY." I slumped to the ground in defeat. The woman was right. She didn't like flowers anyway.

The it hit me. Chocolate. She loved chocolate. Yes, the creamy dark kind... Breaking into a run, I dashed into a nearby grocery store and picked out the largest box of chocolates I could find. But as I approached the counter, the cashier gave me a once-over, sighed, and said, "Honey, if that's an apology, forget it. She deserves better." My mouth dropped open. Was I really that obvious?

"Bb..but...but..."

"Trust me, honey." She yanked the box out of my arms.

Dejected, I walked out into the street. I was out of ideas. I wanted nothing more than to go to her and envelope her in a big bear-hug, but I doubted that there was such a thing as a "physical apology" in the female vocabulary. A foot massage, then? A back rub? Maybe. I didn't know.

Then I remembered. She'd told me of her friend who baked a cake for his girlfriend in apology. She hadn't sounded too approving of the idea at the time, but maybe...

The blare of a horn broke my reverie, and I jumped back onto the sidewalk just in time to look up and see the bus driver shaking his fist at me. JUST DO IT, the bus' Nike logo shouted at me as it zoomed by. I wondered if it was a sign.

...

Two hours and an exploded oven later, I knew it wasn't. I was no baker. Covered in flour, I collapsed onto my bed and squeezed my eyes shut. "Never give a nerd a cookbook," I muttered to myself.

My eyes snapped open. I was a nerd. Nerds don't give up, they Google. I hurried over to my computer.

"HOW TO APOLOGIZE TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND by Rosecrans Baldwin" jumped out at me. Perfect, I thought.

"Feel free to use any tactic that seems relevant:

• Say you’ll meet her for dinner at the new, raved about and very expensive restaurant, but don’t show up. That way, she can meet someone new. Phone the maître d’ an hour later and pay for their meal.
• Have her favorite pet stuffed, smiling, with “love is forever” tattooed on its stomach.
• Lose a leg; who’s sorry now?
• Be hungry for her again: After a two-week fast, say you got skinny to show her how awful she’d look if she weren’t so fat.
• Invent her a superhero identity featuring you as the reliable, naïve sidekick in tights. Exploit all entendres—bat caves, lassos of truth, etc.
• Recalibrate her sister’s and mother’s bathroom scales to be ten pounds heavier.
• Give her a dozen roses. Better than that, give her a single rose and a Mercedes. Better than that, fill the Mercedes with shoes. Better than that, dump yourself after she’s driven away.
• Let her use the bathroom pass more often than the other kids.
• Break up with your other girlfriends.
• Pat Benatar said, “Love is a battlefield.” Love is not a battlefield; Iraq is a battlefield, where two thousand American soldiers have died. Isn’t she glad you guys don’t live in Iraq?
• Detail her car.
• Practice apologizing on hookers. If she finds out, explain you wanted to be really sorry.
• Sign her up for a Match.com account.
• Send her on a beach vacation to Australia. On her trip home, arrange for her plane to crash on a remote island in the South Pacific. Stalk her with monsters, handsome men with five o’clock shadows, and a shark with a weird logo on its flank. Two weeks later, arrange for her to find a new iPod in the sand loaded with a home movie of your apology.
• Legally change your name—to your pet name.
• Does your girlfriend like opera? So does Ewan McGregor. Inscribe his cell phone number (07761554841) down the side of a nine-inch rubber.
• Take the day off, go to Six Flags, and buy her all the souvenirs she would have wanted. Make sure you get a photo of yourself being sick after too many roller coasters.
• Tip her 20 bucks."

Bewildered, it took me 2 minutes to realise that the writer was being sarcastic. I read the article again. "Lose a leg; who's sorry now?" I cringed in sociopathic ecstasy.

It looked like the trusted Net wasn't going to be any help. None of the guys knew any better, and the gals sure weren't telling. I wasn't crazy yet, but I sure was was getting desperate.

"Take her away. I'm sorry sir, but your wife is as crazy as a jaybird."

"I'm going to send you to the booby-hatch!"

I groaned.


***


At precisely 9 pm, her doorbell rang. She opened the door, and without a word I handed her the package I'd brought.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A gun, so you can shoot me," I quipped.

Giving me her "that's-so-lame" look, she ripped open the package. Inside were a few sheafs of paper. She read the title and the first few lines:

How to Apologize to Your Girlfriend

"You're late," she said quietly.

I nodded guiltily. I knew tardiness was one of the few things she couldn't stand....


She looked up and gave me a quizzical look. I tried to look guilty but failed. I grinned.

"Want to join me for supper tonight?"

She rolled her eyes. "Guys," she muttered. Then she smiled, and everything was alright.