I’m not one for apologies, but it seems I owe you all one. And I hate, hate, hate admitting things, but I have an admission to admit.

These are my final words to you, my friends, my community, my local authorities, and my immense, global readership. I’ve let you down in more ways than you can know. Three ways. I kept three ways I’ve let you down secret up to this point, but which I’m going to talk about now.

I’m afraid I was a craven opportunist. I’m not in the best company, being one of those money-lusting souls who saw a chance to make a quick buck. No, I didn’t stock up on toilet paper or N95 masks or anything like that. Before I talk about my golden opportunity, I have to make my apology.

I apologize for not taking your advice, when many of you warned me that I read too fast and didn’t give enough weight to comprehension. “Think about what you’re looking at,” you’d often say. “Does that make sense to you? Say it back to me slowly, and listen to yourself carefully.” I’m afraid I thought you were all being condescending, and honestly I’m convinced some of you were because you heard other people talking like that to me and it cracked you up, but it was good advice. You often said that my haste and carelessness would be the death of me, and now look where we are.

How could my aversion to reading well do me in like this?

While everyone else was driving out to Walmart and Dollar General and buying up all the supplies they could get their grubby mitts on, I thought I’d found another way. One evening I was sifting through my Spam folder, because sometimes legitimate messages from my ex-girlfriends end up there, and I found an advertisement that seemed too good to pass up. I’d share it with you but I cannot bear further humiliation. I know what you’ll say. “This isn’t even proper English.” “You know CN isn’t the two-letter code for Canada.” And, once again, “Say that word aloud, slowly, and listen to yourself. Think about what you’re getting into.”

Who among us hasn’t possessed all the tools to make reasonable decisions, yet veered sharply askew to pursue the heart’s desires?

So it happened that I tapped into my savings and, anticipating a get-rich-quick scheme in unscrupulously marked-up resale, came into possession of roughly 300 gallons of desanitizing solution.

Even now, when I say that word aloud, I can still catch a whiff of my excitement, that moment I thought I was legitimately getting away with something. Zagging, when everyone else was zigging.

It’s about as bad as you might imagine. Desanitizing solution seems to be three parts pig feces to one part ‘Allo Neara, a vegan alternative to aloe vera. Not only is it completely useless and even hazardous, I don’t have the space to store it. I could fit two drums next to my restored ’78 Pinto but the rest had to sit in the yard, and that’s what flagged the authorities. They weren’t worried about the substance, not at first. Someone in the neighborhood association ratted me out for an “eyesore.”

I can hear you already, and sure, it’s all obvious in hindsight. But who knows, maybe some of you would’ve fallen under Li Wei MacDonald’s spell just as I did. Anyway, I have so many diseases that I’ve used my monthly data limit on my phone looking them up, so catch ya on the flip-flop.