1.2 seconds

How is it that, in some situations, the prep time and the payoff are wholly incongruous? For example, you plan...and scheme...and organize...and conspire for..... a birthday surprise party, only for the moment of surprise to last exactly 1.2 seconds...... a marriage proposal, which hopefully turns out well in 1.2 seconds...a contest award winner announcement, that generates clapping in 1.2 seconds (or shameful silence, one of the two). It takes exactly 1.2 eons to plan for 1.2 seconds of excitement.

This phenomenon unfortunately works in more than one direction. It also only takes 1.2 seconds for you to realize how big of an idiot you are....and 1.2 *indefinite-measurement-of-time* to reap the suckiness of your second. 1.2 seconds is all it takes to slice your hand open with a paring knife while chopping veggies (yea, I've done that). It takes 1.2 seconds for you to walk in your house only to realize that you forgot the one thing you went out for (yea, always do this too...do I remember that I went out for dish soap while I'm in the store? No, only 1.2 seconds after I walk in my front door with seven other sacks of stuff I didn't need).

And it only takes 1.2 seconds to slip on your front steps in your cute, if albeit uber-slick-bottomed, kitten heels. And bruise and cut both knees. And develop a baseball-sized lump on your ankle, minus one layer of skin, that requires a night of ice on your elevated foot. Yea, I did this. (I know, insert laugh-at-Al here.) So as I limped around today, and person after person asked me if I was sore from overdoing it at the gym, I had to admit my 1.2 seconds of idiotness. (And no, I don't lie about it and make up grandiose stories of mountainbiking and encountering a cougar or something...) Although I still maintain it wasn't my fault...damn those slick steps!