A few years back, I worked for a company where I was on travel. Every Monday at 8am, I caught a flight out of Boston to where I was working, and every Thursday I flew home. I lived in an apartment that was about a 10min taxi ride from Logan Airport. I would pack and lay out my clothes Sunday night, so I could wake up at 6, shower, dress, grab a bite to eat, and head to the airport.
Like I said, my alarm clock is good only for waking my husband up. So one Monday morning, I was lying in bed half-awake, punching my snooze bar every 7 minutes and otherwise just lying there dozing.
Around 7am my husband shook me awake.
Him: "It's seven o'clock."
Me: "So what?"
Him: "You have to catch a flight at eight."
Me: <words that cannot be repeated in polite company>
I have never moved so fast in my life... but I made my flight.
