In which Primo's lateness and procrastination is stressing me out and I am resorting to eating chocolate souffle, which is not really a sacrifice, and taking vicodin

(which is really for a backache, but maybe I have the backache because of Primo).

A woman in our neighborhood is hosting a fundraiser for Primo. He needs to be there at 5:00.

It is 4:45.

He has not taken a shower yet.

He stayed up all night.

All night, as in, when I got up at 6 a.m., he was still upstairs in his office. He didn't go to bed until noon.

It is now, as I mentioned 4:45.

He has not taken a shower.

He just came downstairs and informed me that she needs a package of cream cheese, which we have, and that he doesn't have to be there until 5:15. The event officially starts at 5:30.

I guess so much for my plan to watch a few more episodes of season 5 of Scandal and then walk to the event. I might as well ride with him.

"I probably will speak around 6:15 or 6:30," he says.

I groan and roll my eyes.

"You'll stay for at least an hour, won't you?" he asks.

I exhale.

I. Do. Not. Want. To. Be. The. Wife.

I do not want to attend political fundraisers, period. For anyone. For anyone! This is going to be miserable.

And - it is now 4:49 and he still has not taken a shower.

The post about chronic lateness on Ask A Manager (a fabulous blog you should be reading) is so timely.