I’m sorry for a lot of things. I’m sorry that mommy’s face is often scary because some days she has eyebrows and some days she doesn’t. I’m sorry that daddy lets you play with balloons, which is highly frowned upon for someone of your age because of safety reasons. I’m sorry that your parents rarely put clothes on you, which is weird because you are like 31 years old now and should be wearing clothes. I’m sorry that the few times you ARE clothed, you are often wearing clothes that would be rejected from Wal-Mart because of poor quality. I’m sorry that your parents make you play with toothbrushes and beef jerky wrapper while Sophia gets a puppy. I’m sorry that while you are wearing crap-ass polyester, that bastard Bintley is living it up like fucking King of Chat-nooga with Kaaahl and Rhon, dirt bikes, cotton tees, and his 4, seemingly financially stable grandparents. I’m sorry that all of your grandparents look like they are from the worst parts of Appalachia. I’m sorry that you are forced to sleep on a mattress on the floor, when we know that mommy can afford a bed since she is pulling in the same salary as her co-worker Farrah, and Sophia has a nice bed, WITH sheets. I’m sorry that mommy uses your bed money on hair gel so that she can pull her thinning hair back super tight so that we can see her scalp. I’m sorry that you found daddy’s condoms and had to have the image of him mounting some poor lady seared into your large head. I’m sorry that while you are cute now, it’s inevitable that that will change in 8-10 years because of genetics. Last but not least, I’m sorry that you are constantly being judged by 24-year-olds who still live in their childhood bedrooms and sleep under their No Doubt and Party of Five posters.