Untimely reminders

There is such a thing as overkill.

It was a week ago when my wife first mentioned my doctor's appointment. "Remember now, you have an appointment with Dr. Mike on Monday. Don't forget."

Well, she knows by now that there's no way in God's green earth I'll ever remember an appointment a week away.

I'm not stupid. I can remember Latin conjugations. I can remember the colour of the dress my date wore to our high school prom. I can even remember how to make a far call to a routine when writing a computer program in Quick Basic - and that language has been defunct for years.

But I'm a man in his 40s and Satan will be knitting sweaters before I'll ever remember an assignation a week away.

There's just too much cool stuff on TV.

And so, every day it was the same. "Remember now, you have an appointment with Dr. Mike on Monday."

About halfway through the week I learned that I also had to pick up my son from school and take him with me. Apparently, she has to layer these little complications so my tiny little male mind doesn't get too confused.

And for the next few days it was "Remember now, you have an appointment with Dr. Mike on Monday. And remember to pick up your son at school."

After a while it got a bit annoying.

The fateful Monday soon arrived. I'm the first to rise at my house, and rise I did, quite punctually at the inhumanly-early hour demanded by my employer, although I'm glad to do it so I can be a vital member of the production team.

Guess what greeted me on the kitchen table.

It was a note.

Guess what it said.

"Remember now, you have an appointment with Dr. Mike on Monday. And remember to pick up your son at school."

I am a man slow to anger. Frankly, I am a man slow to just about everything. But anger, because it involves a lot of energy, is probably one of the things to which I am . . . ah, slowest.

But this really ticked me off. And I got just a tad more annoyed when my wife called me at work to remind me.

And I got just a little bit more annoyed when she left a message on the answering machine when I got home.

So by the time I parked my car outside my son's school, you might say that I was somewhat upset.

It just so happens that my wife works at the school where my son is indoctrinated in all that the province deems fit for him to know.

"Punctuality," I shouted, "is about being on time. It is not about being a half hour early. And it is not about being a half hour late. It is about being exactly where one is supposed to be at exactly the right time."

Of course, this wisdom was lost on my car's rear view mirror. But I resolved to tell my wife as much.

I noticed there were at least 10 minutes left until the doctor's appointment. So I just sat in my car.

I knew that she would be waiting - expecting me to rush into the building at the very last minute to snatch my son and tear off to see the doctor.

I was right. In fact she was waiting with my son in hand in front of the school.

I sat in my car and watched them.

And about five minutes before the appointed time I ambled leisurely up to the building. I took my son's hand, smiled at my wife, and ambled leisurely back to the car.

I savoured the sweetness of my little victory after reaching the doctor's office at precisely the time specified - not early, not late - but exactly at the appointed time.

Which, of course, was stupid. Because we still had to wait about 20 minutes to see the doctor.