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Your Time is More Important Than Mine

My time is more important than yours.

This is the message the woman at the swimming pool was sending me when she left all of her belongings in one of the changing rooms for the duration of her child’s swimming lesson.

Nobody else could use the room, even if they did get there first with a shivering 4-year old boy dripping behind them.  I was more than happy to strip my son down in the corridor and dry his little feet on the mucky changing room floor, while he looked on enviably at the empty, yet ‘claimed’ cubicle right in front of us.

Really, I was; because her time is obviously more important than mine.

Same for the lady who pushed in front of me in the supermarket queue after I had loaded the belt with our weekly shop, because she “only has 3 items”.  You go for it lady, because your time is obviously more important than mine as well.

As for the driver in the silver BMW who stole my right of way because he was in a hurry to get somewhere, no problem! I mean, I nearly crashed into the side of him, which would have held us both up for a lot longer, if not forever, but I braked hard and gave way because he thinks his time is more important too.

And, the telephone engineer who asked me to wait in for him between the hours of 8am-1pm, but then called at 4pm to ask where I was. I do not mind in the slightest that I had to abandon my son’s after-school playdate to come home and let you in, when a simple phone call 3-hours earlier would have given me ample notice to relocate everyone/change the time/reschedule.

My husband, to who some days the burden of simply reaching into his bag to retrieve his house keys is too much to bear, so he knocks on the door instead.  I will stop what I am doing to let him in.  I will get out of the shower.  I will abandon boiling water on the hob.  I will untangle myself from our 4-year old, who insists on sitting on me while he watches Despicable Me 2.  In the same time it would take for him to take out his keys, open the door, take off his coat, and sink into his favourite armchair.

The call centre that calls me at 3pm every single day to ask if I have been injured or in an accident, despite me reassuring them I have not and that they can really stop worrying about me now.

To these people, I must look like I have all the time in the world.

Or maybe they are just too busy being too busy to notice anything else at all.


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Filed under: Life


Wife to a Greek God(zilla). Mother to our Grenglish son. Sometimes funny. Mostly not. Unless drunk, then I think I am hilarious.


  1. Grrrrrr! I’m so with you here, drives me crazy. I’ve waited in twice recently for 4 hour slots for the gasman to do the yearly maintenance on our boiler. The second time he arrived over 1.5 hours later and got angry when he couldn’t check the boiler as my baby was asleep in that bedroom. Grrrr, grrr and more grrrr!
    Franglaise Mummy recently posted…What is friendship now?My Profile

  2. HutMummy says

    Yep, I hear you..Grrrr indeedy.
    In fact I’ve now realised I have to let go of the balloon on this one, as everyone thinks they or their time are more important than yours, but really it’s just plain old selfish, inconsiderate, bad manners…and if that makes me sounds like a pre-war 1940s public information broadcast then hard luck!

  3. All of the above! Although I’ve totally solved the doorbell problem. I’m old enough now to claim I never heard it. I rarely answer the phone either.
    Actually, now I’m here can I have a topical rant? My mother will NOT answer the phone during Coronation Street. I can ring and ring, and she just ignores it. She has Sky Plus, all it would take is a press on the pause button.
    Last night she phoned me back, at 9.30 “I was busy watching Coronation Street,” she excuses herself. Did I tell her that I was now busy eating my dinner, with my husband, and watching Breaking Bad, and planning an early night? Ordinarily I wouldn’t, not wishing to start an argument, but last night I did. All hell broke loose. If I wanted to be that way out then that was my lookout and she’d just leave me to it! I hung up, feeling awful.
    But did I ever once tell her that she ought to press the pause button and speak to me occasionally at 7pm? No. Sometimes we’re our own worst enemies. x
    Actually Mummy… recently posted…A new family adventure has begun…My Profile

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