We had somewhere to be at 5:30 p.m.
Our destination was approximately 20 minutes away, but for some reason, my husband decided he needed to hurry me along.
“We need to leave in 15 minutes,” he announced.
I was putting on my makeup in my office/dungeon of girliness/former hiding place of candy.
He poked his head in.
“Did you hear me?”
I paused, eyeliner in my hand. Did he not know that a kohl eyeliner could double as a mini-spear?
“Daddy….” Cole cautioned from the couch in the living room. “Don’t make her angry.”
“I heard you,” I said, giving him a warning glance.
“I don’t want to be late. We may have to park and walk a block or two, so we need to make sure we leave with plenty of time.”
“Daddy…..” Cole said, a sharp whistle sounding as he took in air.
I gave him a heady stare until he backed out and then returned to my makeup.
“I don’t like being late,” he said again from the other room.
“We won’t be late,” I said.
“We will be if you don’t hurry up, you are still in your robe.”
“I can get ready if you would stop fussing,” was my reply.
“I am not fussing, I am simply telling you we need to leave in 10 minutes and you are not even dressed.”
It’s impossible to apply eye liner or eye shadow when you are fussing with someone. I was going to be late and you know what? It was his fault.
This, from the man that when I tell him I want to go somewhere by a certain time, will make me late. Normally, Cole and I are sitting in the van, wondering if he decided not to go and just laid down. Or, he will say he’s ready to go, then can’t find his wallet, his glasses, the keys, or he needs one more drink of water.
He also is good about walking all the way out to the van, where Cole and I are sitting, normally sweltering from the heat, to announce he forgot something and go back in. “He’s not coming back, is he?” Cole will ask from the back seat. Sometimes, I wonder myself. We spend an eternity sitting in the van ready to go before his daddy finally gets out there.
I couldn’t find the pants I wanted to wear. Where were they? I went in the bedroom and they were not where I had last put them.
I didn’t want to wear jeans – it had to be cooler in the shade of Hades than it was on this evening.
Should I wear a dress, or would that be too dressy?
No, no dress. Never a dress.
What in the world was I going to wear?
“Go get in the van,” I heard Lamar tell Cole.
“I hope you aren’t going to Ray Barrone Mama,” Cole said, heading out the door. “That will not end well, you know…”
He was referencing the episode where Ray left Debra when she got the curling iron stuck in her hair and went to the awards ceremony without her. Here was my child, wondering if his own mother was about to get left behind.
I heard the van crank. “He better not leave me,” I muttered under my breath.
I found a pair of dress pants and a shirt I didn’t really like anymore but it was short sleeved and didn’t require me finding some tank top to wear underneath it – that’s another thing. Since when did every woman’s blouse require another shirt underneath it to wear? Geesh.
I started to slip on my heels then thought if we were late and I had to walk I’d be better off in flats, so I slipped on sandals.
I paused to make sure I could still hear the van outside; I did.
I grabbed my phone and my purse, made sure Doodle was behind the couch, Pumpkin was on it, and Ava was secure on her spot on the bed.
I ran out the door, and saw Lamar sitting in the driver’s seat, window down. Even with his sunglasses on, I could see his annoyed stare.
I realized I didn’t even have on my earrings or my necklace but locked the door anyway.
“Five minutes after 5,” Lamar said as I climbed in my seat.
“You’re going to make me not want to go anywhere with you, you know,” I said. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
He set his mouth in a tense line and backed out.
“We are going to be late,” he stated.
I rolled my eyes and adjusted my AC vent.
A few miles down the road, just as we approached a stop sign, a truck took the turn too fast and hard, and came into our lane, barely having enough time to get control. Lamar was thankfully able to avoid us being hit.
“Wow! If we had left a few minutes earlier, he would have hit us,” Lamar said.
“So Mama being late was a good thing!” Cole said, patting my shoulder.
“Even when Mama’s late, she is always on time,” I said.
We rode in silence the rest of the way.
And we got there, with three minutes to spare.