When I was small but not tiny, my mom called the plastic-covered metal doohickeys that seal bread bags twist-ties. There was a TV commercial at the time that called them twister-seals. I insisted that they were twister-seals. Eventually, my mother, who was a very nice person, went along and for the rest of her life called them twister-seals.
I felt a little awful about it; I think kids fight you to fight you but never want to win. Anyway, speaking for myself, that's how it feels. In much, much later years, I halfway felt like trying to get her to go back and say twist-ties again. But that would just be the same autism all over again, and a fairly hollow apology. The problem with not sweating the unimportant stuff is that sometimes even when it's unimportant it calls for an apology and you never get around to it. And then you've missed the chance.
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