Oh, Man... I'm Scared Of This Thing.

When Your Past Comes Back To Haunt You

Remember last month when I completely forgot to attend a friend's wedding? Well, I didn't forget exactly, I just somehow moved the date back a week, and the participants, family and assorted friends didn't go along with my clever scheme.

Well, I felt terrible about it, and put on the Mental Hair Shirt and flogged myself unmercifully. I sent an apology and for weeks heard not a peep about my transgression.

Until yesterday.

I get home from work to find a tiny little envelope waiting for me. Now, if it was a package that was ticking, that I could understand. This is either a thank you note for the apology gift I sent, or it's an envelope full of anthrax, either real or the verbal equivalent.

I just can't bring myself to open this thing. Part of me wants to read it, yet another part doesn't want to know if she's telling me to kiss off forever.

You have to understand the players involved to know why my trepidation is so great. My friend, let's call her TxDemFemme, has a bit of an uncompromising nature. At a college party, my friend Andy crept into her room in the wee hours of the morning, and snapped a photo of TxDemFemme where she had passed out fallen asleep. She's held a grudge against him ever since. Now, with feuding potential like that, what are the chances I'll get off light for missing her wedding?

Sigh. This sucks. I mean, it's not like we've been particularly close for the past few years. She'd moved on to a different circle of friends, as had I. Of course, there's also the long-term boyfriend/new husband that took over as the resident on-call handyman and dinner partner. Still, I like her, enjoy her company, and would just as soon stay on the "Friends" roster.

The answer's in that envelope. One of these days, I'll open it.