I arrived early for the wedding. I’m early by nature and always nervous if I’m not present for a commitment at least an hour beforehand. But on Saturday I didn’t have anything else to do in the intervening time; daughter had been dropped off at Cheer Camp, and the family car was out of town, so I rode the Blue Line into downtown and walked the mile-or-so to the church, picking up my second coffee of the day on the way.
Two hours early.
I only learned that the wedding started an hour later than I thought it did after I’d been there for an hour. It was like daylight savings time.
Two hours early. Again.
I arrived early for the wedding. This one is not at the church but a hot wedding venue in the West Loop, but it’s on the same day. I want to be there in time to check out the space and robe up, but not so long that I need to dress well. I’ve got on slacks and a tie, and my shirt sleeves are scrunched up past my elbows. No worry, my happy hour look will be concealed by my robe shortly after I get there.
I learn that the wedding starts 30 minutes later than I thought it did almost immediately after I arrive, when the wedding coordinator raises her eyebrow at me and says, “Oh, you have plenty of time.” Now I have half an hour more than I thought I did to stand around with a gathering crowd of smartly dressed people (think tie clips and loud mismatched suit jackets) 20 years younger than me. I cling to the wall and face the window, sipping cup after cup of water.
Yes, better early than late. But twice on the same day?