I’m a procrastinator. In fact, I’m an expert at the art of delayed action. Give me any deadline, and I’ll figure out a way to wait until the very last minute to complete the task. Of course, there will be a meltdown or two in the meantime, but it gets done.

It’s my process. And most of the time, I finish splendidly well, and no one is the wiser. No one except for me, my husband, and Alexa — she’s always listening.

As much as I hate the windmill cycle of deadlines, I need them. Desperately.

Because sending Becky out into the world without solid deadlines is like putting Fredo in charge of the Corleone family. It’s a disaster.

Hosting get-togethers is the only thing that motivates me to finish a home improvement project. Granted, it would be a lot less stressful if I didn’t wait to finish those projects until the morning of the barbecue, graduation/birthday party, Thanksgiving, what have you.

This column is one of the things I put off writing until the last minute. Since this is a humor column, it would be nice to make sure at least one or two sentences induce a giggle or two from the reader. But sometimes it’s hard to find the funny, especially over the last 18 months or so. But I’ll give it a shot.

When something comical happens, I always think, “This should be your next column. Write it down now before you forget.” Then I think about how to craft the story. I’ll usually sit down at the computer and start. Often, it’s at this point when I begin to realize what was funny in the middle of Publix on Tuesday night isn’t funny AT ALL in the light of day. Then procrastination sets in. Then panic.

Like he’s done since the day I was born, my dad always comes to the rescue.

As we prepare to pick up his snacks for the week, Ralphie writes out his grocery list. It’s the same every week. Half and half, cashews, yogurt, berry pomegranate Mio, green bananas, etc.

Before we leave, dad chats with friends in the lobby. Since this can take a half-hour or more, I stay behind and toss out his little reminder notes strewn throughout the apartment. This is where I usually find out what his week was like.

For instance, “Becky needs to shorten my t-shirt arms” means his undershirt sleeves are stretched out and bothering him. I add t-shirts to our list. Another note reads, “DO NOT CALL LIBRARY AGAIN. THEY WILL CALL ME WHEN MY BOOK COMES IN.” This means he’s called the library at least five times a day looking for a new history book. Below his all-caps reminder, he penciled “PS-tell Becky to call them and ask why they don’t buy two copies.” Finally, the last note that went in the trash told me that my sister Laura is better at snack buying than I am. “Call Laura and tell her Becky bought the wrong coffee. I have no good coffee. Why would Becky do that? Laura will talk to her, so this doesn’t happen again.”

Note to self, when in need of finding funny, always call dad.

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