Running Late

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Bone of Contention.”

It was Sunday morning.  Tom, as usual, was up very early, in plenty of time to be ready to leave for church at 8:30.  Also as usual, he puttered around on some project or the other, delaying getting dressed while he tinkered.

Lanie, too was up early.  She had her toast and tea, relaxing while enjoying her latest read, and then got herself ready with 20 minutes to spare.

Tom was just starting to eat his breakfast when Lanie put her purse and Bible on the end of the table where he sat. He wasn’t dressed.

“What time is it?”

“Ten minutes after eight,” she replied, working to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“Wow, how’d it get to be that late?  Ok, I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Tom wandered off to the bedroom, stopping to check the temperature in the house. When he got to the bedroom, he fiddled with a lamp at the bedside.  Finally he turned to his closet, choosing his pants, shirt, and jacket with painstaking deliberation. As he dressed, he thought, “Well, she’s annoyed with me again.  Ok, so I’m a little behind time, but we always get there just a few minutes after things get under way.  We don’t miss anything important. We’re not really  late.  Besides, Sunday morning is the only time I just relax.  Well, maybe not, now that I’m retired, but still. I wish she didn’t have such a thing about being a few minutes early.  She can talk to people afterwards, when there’s more time.  She says if I’d eat and get ready before I start a project, then we wouldn’t always be rushing out the door with me still eating my breakfast. But I have to do things when I think of them, or I’ll forget.  Besides, like I said, we’re only ten or fifteen minutes late. No big deal. She needs to relax. ”

Okay, I could hardly write this without screaming in frustration.

I hope you’re happy, Wordy.


4 thoughts on “Running Late

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