I hate being late for appointments. I got that from my father. He’s been drilling that punctuality sermon into me since I was young.
My wife, on the other hand, seems to have ** problem leaving for a 10am appointment at 9:59am. I love her, but it drives me nuts.
My wife hates being early. I hate being late.
Last night we had a reservation at a restaurant—
Geja’s Cafe. Geja’s is located in a congested part of the city. Traffic can be unpredictable. Throw “rush hour” into the mix—I’m thinking of leaving 1 hour before our reserved time.
She wants to stop by her aunt’s house on the way to drop off some Girl Scout cookies. In my head I’m calculating and recalculating that “1 hour” drive time to Geja’s.
While we’re visiting with her aunt I try **t to look at the clock so much. That’s rude. But I wonder: how’s the traffic? How can we get there on time?
Then I get a **tification on my
Android phone.
[IMG]http://s3.amazonaws.com/37assets/svn/1210-gejas-**tify.jpg[/IMG]
So we said our goodbyes. Got in the car. Drove to dinner. We got there on time. Everything worked out great. I should worry less.
Fondued (is that a word?) scallops are amazing.
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