I hate waiting. A few weekends ago, my dear South American snapped at me because I was running about 5 minutes late to meet him. What all my friends found funny was that the American was late. I may be, perhaps, the only American on the planet who is consistently late for everything...except work. There's a reason for this. Reread the first sentence. I have worked diligently to be as prepared as possible for my upcoming trip, and I am very surprised to be able to admit that I'm even packed...except for some incidentals that will go in my carry-on. My homework is as complete as possible. The laundry is done. I will soon load up all the dogs' stuff for the kennel so it is ready for me in the morning. This, my friends, is something new. And now I wait. I did all this because I have a very special surprise for someone, and I wanted to make sure that I didn't ruin the chance to experience it with some last minute, frantic flurry of activity to leave for the airport in time.