The Looming Deadline

It was the fabulous Douglas Adams, author, who stated:

I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.

Oh, I fully appreciate that sentiment.

Well, the first bit, I do. About loving deadlines. I find them inspring and motivating and make me do stuff.

I don’t like the whooshing sound as they go by. That sounds only serves to remind me that I have failed. Again. I’ve let someone down, and probably upset them (a fate worse than death, in my mind, but I’m working on this) and that sound of a deadline’s whoosh getting louder and louder frightens me.

No, I don’t like missing deadlines. Not at all.

So, as we approach the end of the fortnight sans children, and our minds wander to thoughts of their safety upon their return, what time they will be returning, what their flight number is, and what time we’ll need to leave to go and collect them (and a short phone call to our bank manager to secure a small lone for the few minutes we’ll be required to utilise the airport carparking facilities) it had occurred to us that we had been extraordinarily lax in our making use of this Offspring Free Time.

I was somewhat miffed, whilst Grumpy, he of the chillaxed, it’ll be fine demeanour ws less so. I was of the conviction that, given the proximity of the date and time, there was little to no chance of us aquiring a reservation at a very nice restaurant.

And, in all likelihood, had it been me making the calls, I would have been met with no after no after no.

Grumpy, on the other hand, whether due to luck or his incredible, well used and perfectly timed charm, can always manage to pull something off.

By which I mean, he considered the looming deadline, made ONE phone call and has us the reservation we’d been muttering about since the time we booked the kids’ flights.

Bastard!

Thus, I must remove myself from my relaxed state on the couch, shower, and don some attire worthy of such an experience.

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