I am not sorry that the DC Sniper is going to die tonight. Not at all. However, I am sorry that I may have used his reign of terror to further my own self-interests at times. Just on occasion, just a little bit, not all that often but probably some of the time, I maybe displayed poor judgment. I was just a wee-Barista back then. I have grown up considerably since 2002.
I am sorry that I called the NBC station in Baltimore and reported that my neighbor might be The Sniper. But no law-abiding citizen owns a sketchy white van, right?
I’m sorry that I lied and said I couldn’t get into Rockville, MD to work one morning because The Sniper was on the loose in that area. He was on the loose, as was I. Alas, I was in Atlantic City.
I’m sorry that I spilled my Cosmo (uh, it was 2002) all over our living room and said that I was scared that I just heard the sniper. I was just jittery from a three-day bender.
I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to my now-husband at a party because I was “too engrossed” in that day’s sniper coverage. I was just shy, and too stupid to cheat on my then-boyfriend. I totally should have cheated on the lame then-boyfriend.
I’m sorry that I declined a wedding invitation, saying that I was instructed to keep the highways clear in case of a sniper attack. I’m even sorrier that the couple had a cash bar and I felt compelled to lie to avoid that event.
I’m sorry that I closed the bar I tended at a different time every night saying that property management wanted the shopping center to be harder for the sniper to target. I was just being lazy.
I’m sorry that I told my roommate that she should tie a sweater around her waist so that she would be appear to be a smaller, more challenging hit for the sniper. That was just rude of me. But my social-sports team was named SOFA (Sweater Over Fat Ass) that year and I mistakenly thought the disguise was a helpful fashion hint.
Present day, I’m sorry that I called TLW “Tubs” this morning. I was not stressed over John Allen Muhammad’s attorney’s plea for clemency. I just think it’s funny to call her Tubs. She’s real little. I’m sure she understands. She calls her bald feral cat Mr. Fluffy all the time.