Carol’s Column

So who's got time to live these days?

IT'S crazy the pace at which we live.

Why only yesterday I was in such a hurry that I left a child at the supermarket which was serious enough. What was almost worse — I left my car and I was in too much of a rush to notice.

At least a child can talk.

When I got home, the phone rang.

"Hello, Mrs Lazar," said a voice. "I have a little girl here who says she's your daughter. You left her behind.

"I also have a woman who claims you have stolen her red car and left yours parked by mistake."

"What does the little girl look like?" I asked. One has to be careful about these things. I didn't want just anybody's little girl.

"Listen, Madam," the voice was distinctly frosty, "it's definitely your little girl. Furthermore, it's definitely your car.

"Inside is a huge, black labrador who keeps smiling at passersby. She's wearing a dog collar with a disc saying 'Licquorice Lazar'. The dog not your daughter."

"OK, OK, tell her to wait, I'm coming, I was in a hurry, I made a mistake."

Only the other morning, I passed a stranger on the way to the bathroom. Scantily dressed, he looked familiar.

"Do I know you?" I asked as I flew towards the basin to brush my teeth. It's not nice to face the world with unbrushed teeth.

"Of course you do," he yelled as he shot past in the opposite direction. "I'm your husband. Remember? I've just been in too much of a hurry to chat lately. Listen, when you have a moment, we must get together."

Breakfast is murderous. The pace is frantic.

Like whirlwinds, my family fly around and conversation is frenetic.

"Has anyone seen the cereal?"

"Where's my shoe?"

"C'mon, chew faster, I've gotta go."

"I can't wait for my sandwiches, I must run, call a taxi and have them delivered."

It's the Johannesburg syndrome.

Like: "Good morning, Dr Carbuncle, I'm in agony, I lost a filling eating crispy duck. It's an emergency, please can you fit me in."

"Sure, sure, Mrs Lazar, for you anything. I'll fit you in. Come on April 21 at 8am."

"But that's nearly three weeks away."

"Sure, sure, I'm doing you a favour. Do you know how busy I am?"

Or: "Good morning, is that the municipality drain-cleaning service? Please can you come immediately, our toilet is blocked and sewerage and things are floating around our garden."

"Certainly, Madam, we'll make it a rush job, we'll come on Friday."

"That's a week away!"

"So, you're lucky, we're so rushed, I'm squeezing you between a cracked sewerage pipe and rats."

And this is luck?

But yesterday morning took the cake.

My spouse set off to work wearing underpants.

I noticed as he whizzed out of the door.

"Hey!"

"Talk quickly," he shouted, "I'm late."

"You've forgotten something," I yelled as he climbed into his car.

He looked down.

"Dammit." He shot back inside, ran upstairs and in two minutes flat was behind the wheel again.

Before I could say anything, he'd accelerated and was halfway down the block.

"Did you notice anything?" I remarked to my youngest unmarried son.

"Ja, Daddy wasn't wearing trousers," he observed.

"So what did he go upstairs for?"

"To put on a tie. As he ran past me, I heard him muttering: 'Dammit, I always forget my tie'."

So, does it really matter? Who'll have time to notice anyway?

PS . . . sorry there's no cartoon — Dave Gaskill didn't have time.

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