A SLICE OF LIFE
Our columnist Lori Borgman on how she copes with Adjusted Husband Time – by manipulating time.
There are 24 time zones in the world. Each one is designated by a burst of letters, the longest of which is ACWST (Western Australia / Australia). The two most amusing time zone designations are LINT and NUT.
We live and operate in a little-known 25th time zone known as AHT. We gladly would have designated our time zone as NUT, but that one was already taken.
AHT stands for Adjusted Husband Time. The husband is one of the kindest, most easy-going, congenial people in the world. And he is nearly always late.
His mother used to say he was late to his own birth. She ought to know – she was there.
The kids will tell you that he was often the last one in his seat at school programmes.
He will tell you that was how they spotted him in a crowd.
When I insisted family dinner was a must, he often left skid marks in the driveway, screeching to a stop, trying to beat the food to the table.
He often gets a late start on yardwork and is the neighbour mowing in the dark. That’s him, the one who fires up the leaf blower at 9pm.
The word hurry is not in his dictionary, nor in his vocabulary. On the upside, he has never hurried or rushed a single family member a single moment in our lives.
In fact, he claims that people who rush and hurry to get to places on time or ahead of time are the ones wasting time. They wind up sitting around and waiting when they could have
The word hurry is not in his vocabulary. He claims that people who rush and hurry to get to places on time or ahead of time are the ones wasting time
spent five or 10 more minutes at home reading, working, eating or even sleeping.
At best, he would admit that he often makes it to an event on time by the skin of his teeth.
Alas, his teeth are out of skin, which is why I instituted AHT. For the past few years, I have been adjusting the time we need to leave the house by about 30 minutes.
The move has been so successful that our grown children now adjust the time they wish him to be somewhere by as much as 45 minutes.
Initially, I was uneasy thinking it was deceitful to fudge on the time or move his bedside clock up whenever I dusted, but I can tell you now it was an excellent move in the name of peace and harmony in the home.
I’m still ready ahead of time and often wait in the car. He still flies out the door with a cup of coffee in hand, but we now arrive at events before the parking garages flash the big red signs that say FULL. We are no longer the last to arrive at family birthday parties or dinner with friends. We’ve been able to pick where we want to sit at weddings and have even seen trailers before the featured movie begins.
He’s happy. I’m happy. It is the best of times.