I take off from a small airport underneath the overlying "inverted wedding cake" of a large control zone. I call for and am given clearance to climb into the control zone. The GPS claims it's class B, but Canada doesn't have class B airspace below 12,500', so I know it's class C. I don't consider that to be an error in the database, though, more of a translation. An American company provides the database to overwhelmingly American clients, and Canadian class C rules match US class B rules, so it's simplest for all concerned to just tell them it's class B. Likely the Canadian controllers will even understand if someone with a November-registered callsign requests clearance "into Bravo." They'd probably respond with "Cleared as requested," and sidestep the whole issue of it being "Class Cee" here.
I depart controlled airspace to the east. As the controller clears me on route, he tells me to keep the code for when I return. I'm working back and forth below the 9500' shelf of the outlying control zone, when I realize I may be pretty close to the next layer down. I check the GPS and see that according to my trails, I have nicked the controlled airspace a couple of times without contact. And I'm not an anonymous 1200 squawk: the controller knows just who I am.
I'd 'fess up anyway, so as I approach the zone again I retune him on the radio. He's having a personal conversation with another pilot about I can't remember what. It bodes well, though. It shows that he's not busy, not stressed and in a good mood. I make contact and admit "I think I've clipped the corner of your airspace a couple of times. I'm calling to beg your forgiveness and ask permission to do it again." He laughs on the radio and grants my request. Phew.
And yikes, yesterday's insect bite has raised a huge red itchy welt, twice the diameter of a tooney. That couldn't have been a wasp.