Rob asked if he might give his sister, Rindy, the URL of this blog as a way of letting her discover more about me before we meet in person later this summer. While I approve of the idea, I hope this is not the first entry she reads, for it will give her an utterly skewed vision of my character.

Or maybe not.

Today, I was so hideously rude to somebody that I immediately fled to a bench in Central Park and cried. After getting up over two hours later than normal, Rob and I were leaving my apartment, I to walk Goblin and he to return to his own apartment to take care of some business. I emerged from the building first and paused to hold the door open for Rob, at the same time attempting to balance the dog's leash, her poop bag, her training clicker, and a bag of reward treats.

Goblin is trained to rush directly to the curb to go to the bathroom, but apparently the lateness of the hour, my further lingering, and the fact that the sofa from someone moving out next door was completely blocking the way took their toll. Before walking four feet, Goblin began peeing in the recessed area directly outside the front door of my building. In front of several witnesses.

I was mortified, but the situation immediately intensified when one of the onlookers, a prim woman in her fifties, chose to confront me for allowing this.

"Shut the hell up!" I screamed. I forget what else I said, but it was not a cheerful comment on the weather.

The woman was obviously devastated at my insolence, but not so much that she did not continue to press the matter. "I am the managing agent of this building!" she announced, not, I thought, to take control of the situation, but to establish that she had never been so affronted on her own territory. After a few more words about my dog's unclean habits, she retreated to the curb. I was feeling bad enough by this time to offer a halfhearted apology, but she used the opening to press the matter further.

Goblin and I continued our walk, and my horror at my own reflexive behavior mounted with each step, until I was so overcome that I had to sit down and regain my wits. Brushing away my tears, I then rushed home and called the management office to leave an apologetic message on her voicemail. This seeming insufficient, I wrote her a humble letter to further beg her pardon and invite her to a conciliatory tea at my apartment.

Three things continue to haunt me:

1) Where did this outburst come from?

2) What if she thinks I am only apologizing because I found out she is my building manager, as opposed to the fact that I feel genuinely awful to have needlessly hurt the feelings of another human being?

3) What if she thinks I am a bad person? What if Rob does?

One thing is clear: the move from Queens to Manhattan has brought out more of the New Yorker in me. I only hope that the southern gentleman in me emerged in time to make up for it.