My mother...
Even though there is NOTHING wrong with her current alarm clock (which is always set exactly 13 minutes fast to *trick* her into being on time--No, she can't just set it 13 minutes earlier, yes it helps more with her math skills that it does her punctuality), she is now returning her third replacement alarm clock to the store.
She brought one home the other night. She pulled it out of the box, looked it over, and promptly decided it wouldn't work.
"What's wrong with it?" my dad tried to help.
"I can't find the button to turn it off and I don't like the snooze button because it comes back on."
"You could just get up instead."
"That's not my process."
"Well, if it's anything like mine, it's this button right here."
"No. I'm not going to deal with that; I don't have the energy to find buttons."
"It's just this button right here! You'll get so used to it you won't have to find it!"
"It's the third button down! I'm not going to take the time to count 1... 2..."
"Or," I interjected, "You could start from the other end and then it's the first button in!"
She'd have none of it. Back to the store it went. Just like every Christmas present I ever gave her, including the hand-drawn card I made in first grade that she returned to the Hallmark Store.
Sometimes I wonder if she asked God what his return policy was back during the birthing years...
We all made it past 30 days. We must have been easy babies who slept through the night and woke up each morning exactly 13 minutes before my mom wanted to.
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