To my friend Kelly, who asked me if she should bring a fork and knife to the “sausage fest,” I apologize for calling you an idiot.

To the Patriots, Ravens, Steelers, Jets, Giants, Vikings, Lions, Bears, Panthers and Browns: I apologize that the Philadelphia eagles beat all ya’lls butts! Despite a tiny glitch, the Eagles are going all the way this year. Fly, birds, fly!

To the girls walking outside Stillman Hall with cigarettes and very short mini skirts: I apologize for squirting shampoo at you from our window. It looked like you needed to wash up…

To my friend Lauren, whose guy’s condom keeps falling off mid-act: I apologize for pointing out that maybe you should get smaller condoms, or a bigger man.

To the people who attended the 24-hour burn: I apologize for a certain play, which showed a pedophile rapist boyfriend and his abused and battered wife as they fought over their sexually abused embittered suicidal daughter. Light-hearted theater is so last season.

To the girl who always sits with us: I apologize that no one likes you.

To the people at the gym who might actually want to watch The Swan (Fox’s answer to all your materialist, chauvinistic, commercialistic plasticism): I apologize for asking to have the channel changed when it was playing. It’s just that The Swan gives me the willies, makes me nauseous and definitely requires too much attention for the gym- one needs a quiet place to concentrate on all its splendor and wisdom, while jotting notes on a pad of paper.

To my friend Sophie, who just can’t stop herself: I apologize for telling you that you need to calm down and not get with every guy who says they like your hair or your lips or your penciled-in eyebrows. I apologize, but I don’t take it back.

To all the guys who are reading this column: I apologize for not giving out Sophie’s number. All right, you win: (215) 880-9342. Just don’t tell her I told you.