Timing is a fascinating, fascinating thing.
It is the difference between a perfectly choreographed dance routine, and a hot mess flailing on stage. Or between being the winner, and coming in second (or last).
In our case, it was the difference between John making it to the hospital for his surgery on time, and making it 15 minutes late with a bonus speeding ticket.
See, we were cruising to the hospital with LOADS of time to spare. Or about 5 minutes, give or take a few.
John, the perpetually early, genuinely believes "to be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late".
When we first got together, his compulsory earliness was quite a rub for me, a girl who came from a long line of the perpetually late. In my family, we live by a very different motto: the party starts when we arrive.
Over the years, We have both evolved. I have become prompt, and John has re-defined "on time" to be only 10 minutes early. Which means that running 5 minutes early was completely unacceptable.
And as a result, we got a lovely visit from our friendly state trooper on the way to the hospital this morning.
For a couple who hasn't had a speeding ticket in YEARS, this has been a hell of a run.
And thus my friends, it comes down to timing. Had we been just a few minutes more on the early scale, we might have made it here unscathed.
Granted, it wouldn't have been nearly as memorable of a tale, nor would it have fit so perfectly with this batshitcrazy year.
In the last 24 hours we have gone into contract on a new house, gotten a speeding ticket, and John has gone in for surgery, just in case you are keeping track.
Wonder if there rules about drinking at the hospital...