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Dear Reader,
If I'm supposed to attend a meeting at 3 p.m., I'm killing time in the lobby at 2:30, just in case. Just in case I get stuck in traffic, or I show up at the wrong building. It's happened.
A few years ago I had an appointment at the corporate offices at Saks in New York City. The woman I was meeting didn't give an address, so I assumed it was SAKS on 5th Avenue, the fancy building with the clothes in the window I can't afford unless they're on a sale rack. Our meeting was scheduled for 10 a.m., but when I showed up at 9:30 looking for an open door, the only way to get in the building was through the employee entrance. And that's when the security guard informed me that the corporate offices were around the block.
Around the block in New York City can be a 20 minute walk, 25 if you're wearing "presentation heels." The heels I bought at Saks the night before. But those stylish, stupid shoes hurt my feet so badly that I couldn't stand to have them on more than 30 minutes, and going for a walk was out of the question. But a cab had dropped me off and the only way to get to the corporate office was to put one foot in front of the other. Limp, limp, stop and adjust the heels, with the pointy toes that were digging into my feet, moan and groan a bit--only seven minutes before my appointment--so I took the pain in stride and sprinted the last few feet. I made it on time, but just barely. It was a great appointment, but I was sorely disappointed that no one commented on my shoes.
Can you tell that being on time is one of my pet peeves? And it's one of the traits that my husband and I have in common, except when it comes to meeting friends for an informal occasion.
If the party starts at 7 p.m., then my dear husband expects us to be walking through the door in harmony with the big hand on the 12 and the little hand on the 7. Now if this were a job interview or a first date, punctuality would make me stand out in a good way. But when you show up on the dot for a party, the first to arrive, it's an awkward feeling. So I try to find ways to stall. For instance, my husband thinks I'm typing column notes this very minute, (and I am) but really it's a ruse. We have a dinner date with our neighbors this evening and we offered to drive to the restaurant. My husband is hurrying-me-up because it's eight minutes to lift off. "It's time to go, Suzanne, we'll be late!"
But it's only a two minute walk to our neighbor's house and we're driving, so you do the math.
"I'm coming Dear, still typing column notes."
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Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
http://www.DearReader.com
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