words to the wise

All day I'd been snapping at this one and that about nothing in particular.
And then I'd quickly apologise.
It was a constant refrain of "sorry, sorry, sorry," until nightfall.
I arrived home at the chateau late in the evening and met the mother in the hall.
"Sorry Mother," sez I.
"Sorry for what?" sez she.
"Sorry for whatever the hell it is I'm about to say next," quoth I warmly.
The Lildebeest patted me on the arm.
"Arrah don't worry about it," she told me. "Sure you don't know what you're saying half the time. It's probably just your leg upsetting you. We all understand you're under pressure at the moment."
Then in case this seemed too maudlin she added:
"Ye gouty oul fecker."