There are those who say that I procrastinate...
...and that's just not fair.
Hey, I managed to get my four-year degree in just 14 years.
I managed to wed my wife within 7 years of meeting her.
I get my semester research papers in grad school done before the semester's over, mostly.
Those dishes in that sink? They're about to be washed, in just a minute or two.
So it hurts --hurts!-- when I read the following snark (at 06:47, this date) from my good online buddy of many years, Don Gwinn:
"My guess goes like this:
"AD and Babs are emailing back and forth, snarking
about Matt not getting his part of the project done. Each realizes that here is
a worthy partner/opponent in snark. They switch to instant messaging, then to
the phone, all the while mercilessly flaying Matt, who is still not finished
with his part.
"After a few weeks, they decide that it's time to
meet face-to-face and find out if the snark can be as perfect as it seems. They
meet at a favorite restaurant, but there's an unexpected wait for a table. They
chat about small things, the weather, politics, and conversation trails off. The
moments pass, and both are beginning to wonder whether they made a mistake. It's
an uncomfortable silence, and the wait for the table seems interminable. Staring
at the hostess is not speeding things up, but they're both trying. "Who runs
this place, Matt?"AD meant to say it, but he heard it. Babs is wondering whether
she said it out loud at all--it didn't sound like her voice. . . . and that's
when they turned to face each other, their eyes met, and they realized that they
had achieved perfectly synchronized snark.
"It was love.
"(Postscript: Nine months later . . . you guessed
it . . . . Matt sent the lovebirds his third of the project.)"
That ain't right.