Among my list of inane habits, of which I have many, is tapping a can or bottle three times before I open it, even when it is not carbonated; swiping my finger on the roof of my car when going through a yellow light; and writing things like “shower” on my To Do List, even after I’ve already done them.
Another completely idiotic thing that I do is I set every clock in my life 5-15 minutes fast, except for the two that get automatically programmed by God, my iPhone and the DVR. Somehow, though I know that they are fast, this logic helps me get places on time. Although, if you ask my friends and family, I am perpetually 5-15 minutes late, hmmm . . . anyway, I digress.
Last week, while getting ready for a private dinner I had been hired to run for a group of lawyers and judges, including a Supreme Court Justice, I found myself running late as usual due to an unexpected incident with Lexi and a sand bucket in which she ended up gushing blood from the corner of her eye and landed in my lap, inconsolable for 45 minutes (hence the shiner she had the first week of school).
Though one of my clients was a friend of mine, there was a lot of pressure on this dinner to be a perfect success, so running late was not an option. Thank goodness for my weird fast-clock-thing, right?
Ultimately I got Lexi to nap, put a show on for Lily, then ran around like a mad woman trying to get ready. My 60-minute window to get ready was now only 30 minutes. Also, side note, I was sweating balls because I had taken a hot shower and then blown my hair dry. Somehow that fact makes this story even more dramatic.
At some point between blotting the sweat beads from my brow and curling my eyelashes, I checked my trusty alarm clock that sits beside my bed; the alarm clock that is ALWAYS 10 minutes fast. ALWAYS.
Slight panic set in for a second because I knew I was supposed to be leaving at 4:00, but then I settled in to do the other eye with some comfort from my 10-minute-cushion.
Then I looked down to my iPhone to see if any fun tweets had come through, and then the time met my glance; the accurate time, set by God.
What the . . .?
I checked my alarm clock again, and then my phone again. Alarm clock, phone.
3:55 pm. 3:55 pm.
Panic set in.
I am gonna kill that SOB.
The next ten minutes were filled with frantic, haphazard make-up application, under-the-breath-curses, more brow blotting and the intense plotting of retribution on my husband, aka “he who has be living with me for over twelve years and knows damn well about the 10-minute-fast rule for clock setting.”
Though I made it to the event venue with plenty of time to greet the US Marshals and their trusty bomb-sniffing dog that had to walk the perimeter before the Supreme Court Justice arrived, I was still pretty ticked at the whole clock-setting debacle.
I won’t tell how I plan on getting him back, but I assure you, the payback will be swift and timely.
To be continued . . .