It takes me twenty minutes to shower and get dressed every morning. No matter how rushed I am or how how lazy the day ahead is – exactly twenty minutes (Who am I kidding? Do parents of toddlers have lazy days in any alternate universe? If so, how do we move there?) Whether I wear a sexy sari and makeup or just a pair of jeans and my favorite Rajinikanth tee, I need the same time to get ready.
When it’s the former I spend time in front of the mirror preening like this:
When it’s the latter, I spend time under the shower meditating somewhat like this:
Either way, bam! It’s taken me 20 minutes and I’m late. My parents, after sending me to school for 14 years, are amazed I even make it to office before noon each day. The Hero’s given up hope that we’ll ever make it to anything on time. Even Chotu Singh’s given up on the idea of seeing me emerge from the bathroom within his attention span. But not I.
Even though I know fully well that something’s going to take me 20 minutes, I still don’t factor it into my day. I’m still optimistic every morning that maybe, just maybe, today’s the day I’ll make it out of the door in five minutes. Where does this misplaced optimism come from? How can a seemingly normal, rational human being (yes, we’re still talking about me) who can predict other outcomes fairly accurately be so stubborn about this?
Meh! Who cares?
