I’ve been thinking about tardiness.
Over a decade now, Hubby and I have become notorious among our family and friends for tardiness. In our defense, this is only an issue for the more conservative and sedate of our circle. With our more relaxed, more social, more—do I dare say?—sophisticated family and friends, there is no issue about our “being late.”
Some might say that there is no such thing as tardiness in casual social situations. I imagine that to Argentinians who dine out at 10pm no one is ever “late” to dinner, that to Spaniards who start club hopping at midnight there’s nothing wrong with “the later the better,” that Asian Indians who relish a gathering for any sake don’t worry about when people arrive so long as they do. Still, Hubby and I have begun a concerted effort to be “on time.” (We don’t dare aim for arriving early!)
A late arrival to an arranged engagement is considered rude. We know this. Employers frown upon it. You inconvenience those you keep waiting. It reflects badly on you. What, can’t you get dressed fast enough? Can’t you set your alarm clock half hour earlier? That’s rude.
Tardiness is something else too: insulting. By arriving late, I say to you, “I didn’t care for you enough to be on time. I didn’t do what was necessary to meet my commitment and save you a tedious wait. I was careless, and so you were inconvenienced.”
I don’t like insulting my family and friends. Tease them? Sure. Laugh with them. And, of course, love them. It’s long past time that I stop insulting them.