You know that person: The one that texts “where the hell are you?” thirty seconds after you were supposed to meet up? That was me that texted you by the way. And I had already been waiting for 10 minutes.
I can’t help myself. It’s like I have an internal clock that’s consistently 15 minutes fast and its snooze button settings are either 7 seconds or 14. Your choice. Literally. Panic. Mode.
I will be the first person to your house warming. Count on it. I’ll arrive at least fifteen minutes earlier than anyone else to your birthday party. Be prepared. And I’ll make sure to get the first parking spot at the PTA meeting. Don’t be surprised.
But I’ll help you make the dip and sangria (and have 3 glasses). I’ll take pictures of the birthday decorations for you before the others arrive and the drunk animals destroy them (happens every time). And I’ll offer my opinion on the budget cuts to the playground proposal (I have strong opinions).
Don’t expect me to apologize. This is me, and being early is ingrained in my genetic make-up. Blame my parents.
At an early age (see what I did there?) arriving before we were supposed to was something we always did. There was never an explanation either. My parents were habitually early; now, so am I. If soccer practice started at 4pm, we were pulling into the pitch at 3:45pm and my boots were laced by five minutes to. If the store sale started at 7am, we were lining up at 6:30am and knocking on the glass door at 6:59am. If you asked us to drop off an item to borrow at noon, you were getting it at 11:50am and we’re bringing lunch because we’re staying awhile. No big deal. It’s just the way it was.
OK, so sometimes it can be annoying, I get it.
Who wants a knock on the door while they’ve just gotten out of the shower and only had time to wrap a towel around themselves? I don’t. But I’ve done it. And I’ve asked for a drink while I wait for them too. Make it a double if you still need to apply makeup and choose an outfit.
Who wants a phone call at 7:01pm when they’ve just pulled into a restaurant for a 7:00pm reservation with yours truly? I can tell you, none of my friends do. But they have. More than once.
Who wants an irritated Mom pacing the waiting room at a Doctor’s appointment, 30 minutes before the scheduled visit? Not my Doctor. He’s actually told me so. I still do it though.
It is what it is, and those that know me well expect me early every single time. Sometimes, they lie to me about what time to arrive. Those are my jerk friends. And sometimes, they just make me wait. I don’t mind waiting. Except if you’re running late by 1 second. How rude.
Even though I deserve to be kept waiting, I make no apologies for showing up half an hour early for your son’s baptism. Someone needs to make sure the communion wafer crackers aren’t stale and the wine hasn’t spoiled. I’m your girl.