The Art of Being Late

I wake up early, truly I do. I set the alarm for 5:15 a.m., leaving just enough wiggle room for me to hit the snooze button three times and swing out of bed at my actual rising time of 5:30 a.m. That gives me plenty of time to wander rock-eyed into the kitchen and set the coffee pot, shuffle into the office to press the button to turn on the computer, return to the kitchen and fix the cup of coffee when it is finished brewing, and sit down to read the Style section of the Post and any late email from the previous evening. I keep an eye on the clock as I read, making sure that I don't dally past 6:15; but when the minutes tick over, I convince myself that it won't actually take all of thirty minutes for me to take a shower and dry my hair. I can push it to 6:30. I am reading, and writing, and 6:30 comes and goes while I'm occupied so that when I finally glance down at the clock again the hour reads 6:43 a.m. Cripes! I finish the last line of the article on graffiti artists in D.C. and spin my chair around to bolt into the bathroom for my shower. Soap, scrub, rinse and I am off like a bullet to the bedroom to diffuse my wavy layers.

What to wear? What to wear? I throw on the black top with the dark jeans (nope), switch the top for a blue jacket and tank (ugh), then pull everything off in favor of a jersey Pucci print wrap dress (god, I look so bloated). It will have to do. The clock wears its 7:25 a.m. face as I fluff and spray my hair frantically. I have to leave the house by 7:30 and I haven't even done makeup yet!

Sit, powder, line, brush, color, blush, lips, stick in the earrings and slide on the wedge heels. Run, run, run down the hall to the purse on the chair – no time to eat – keys on the counter, no, where? Crap! Keys, keys, keys…okay, where did I drop stuff when I came home yesterday? Ah-ha! They are hiding under the dish towel on the kitchen counter. The clock says 7:32, well enough, and I AM OUT OF HERE!