They're kinda funny.
Kinda weird.
Kinda OCD.
And Kinda un-punctual.
The first three are fine - I can TOTALLY deal. However, that last one? Yea, Houston, we have a problem.
Now don't get me wrong, it's not like they all run an hour late to everything, but a few family members in particular seem to have a hard time accomplishing tasks in a prompt manner.
This post is not about them.
Instead, it's about the only member of my family who is even slightly close to my version of "on time."
To my older sister, Renee', "on time" is five minutes early. Thank you, finally someone shares my belief. Perhaps this is why she took me by surprise the other day.
You see, about a week ago I was in the kitchen gathering the materials for a new cookie recipe (which is seriously the last thing I shoulda been making) when I nearly died of cardiac arrest as soon as I opened the cabinet.
To my surprise, the pound of Crisco I KNEW was in there somewhere was *suspenseful music* MISSING!
That's right. Gone. Without a trace. Missing in action. Nowhere to be found.
Thankfully, after a few heart pounding minutes of searching aimlessly, it was recovered and returned to the proper place. As soon as my heart palpitations subsided and my breathing returned to normal, I sent a text to my older sister who lives three hours away from Mayberry, across a state line in a land of sushi and stoplights.
Ok, after reading the conversation, do you see the problem? I sent that message to her on Saturday. When I got the text Tuesday I couldn't help but laugh.
Three days.
Do you know the types of things that happen in three days? Jesus' resurrection, Labor Day weekend, how long you have to stay home after a bad eyebrow wax.
Life. Changing. Events.
Three days, all because she forgot to hit "send." Too bad my fat thumbs hit it too easily each time I try to type the letter "p."
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