I’m sorry for what I would say on Twitter if I were on Twitter.
The same goes for Facebook and Instagram and any others I don’t know about.
Sooner or later, everyone on Twitter apologizes for something. I know I wouldn’t be any different.
I’d say something that was “tone deaf.” (I see the words “tone deaf” a lot.)
At first, I’d try to defend what I said, then I’d make up an excuse for what I said.
Then I’d apologize.
It would go something like this: “I want to apologize to the State of Texas and all Texans. What I said about Texas and Texans was tone deaf. I know that now.
“This will not define me. However, I don’t know what will, and maybe this will define me.”
Perhaps there are plenty of good reasons to have a Twitter account, and they offset all of the negativity I keep reading about.
If I did have an account, I know just what I’d do. I would be up in the middle of the night tweeting exactly what I thought of musicals. “Hamilton.” “Cats.” “Mamma Mia.”
For or against? Little Miss beauty pageants, the NRA, the Second Amendment, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, peanut butter, Scientology, chocolate chip ice cream, Quentin Tarantino, motivational speakers, televangelists, situation comedies, Comic Con, Congresswoman Lauren Boebert, the Easter Bunny.
My mailbox would explode, implode, spit and fume.
Last week I had a nightmare like no other: I was a contented Douglas County high school art teacher but the principal, Mr. Kafka, decided it was my turn to teach a new course.
I begged and pleaded: “No, not me. Not now.”
In the first place, I don’t know how to tweet. The word itself isn’t fit for a Runyonesque character like I am.
“Harry, I’m going upstairs to tweet,” would worry the dog.
Not everyone, as we know, apologizes for what they express on Twitter. Some of us never apologize.
Maybe you have noticed? People are far more likely to complain now than they once were. And to complain aggressively.
Some things trigger all of us. Race and abortion, for examples.
Some things trigger select groups or individuals. Perfume in elevators and gum chewing.
If the whole perfume industry went away, I wouldn’t mind.
Wait. Maybe I should reword that.
Think twice: Do you really want to smell like your off-aunt’s funeral?
See what I mean? I am governed by black coffee and an unnecessary need to engage in pedantic fault-finding.
I’m working on it. There’s a brand new hair shirt hanging in the closet.
If anyone thinks “We’re all in this together,” they haven’t been paying attention.
Not wanting to stoke further divisions among the citizenry, I am going to try to sit on the fence for a while. Travel the road’s middle. Try to appeal to every man, woman and child. It can be done.
“Offend no one,” will be my motto, my newest tattoo.
I will greet everyone with a smile. But how will they know I’m smiling behind a mask?
The chances of a makeover are practically nil. I have been disputatious since I was a child; unlike my sister, who never complained about our mother’s spaghetti sauce.
Elbert Hubbard said, “To avoid criticism, do nothing, say nothing and be nothing.”
Craig Marshall Smith is an artist, educator and Highlands Ranch resident. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.