Wherein I must admit I was wrong

by Katie on November 2, 2010

We just returned from a meeting with our accountant to begin planning our tax strategy for the year. This meeting was originally scheduled for last week, then rescheduled for yesterday, then rescheduled again for today.

I called early last week and made the first appointment, then added it to our friend, Google Calendar*, and set three email reminders to be delivered to Brandon’s inbox prior to the meeting. Because that’s what I do. I set meetings and appointments, and keep track of them.

Even when they’re only for Brandon. In fact, he has missed a meeting before that I reminded him about less than two hours before it began. Granted, he had 20 problems crop up in that time, and it understandably slipped his mind. But still. Keeping up with these things is not his strong point. Not when he has a farm to run, anyway.

The day before our appointment, the receptionist called to see if we could reschedule due to some conflicts on their end. And so we did.

The problem was, we were driving at the time, and neither of us made a note of the new date. Thankfully, I have a knack for remembering such things.

…Or so I thought, anyway.

The next day, I diligently added our new appointment time to the faithful GCal, and assumed we were good to go.

Sunday evening, Brandon asked when our appointment was.

“Tuesday, nine a.m.,” I answered, without hesitation.

“Are you sure? I really thought it was Monday.”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m good with these things. You’re awful. How about you just keep letting me handle them, okay?”

I was beyond confident I was right. Quite smug, actually. I mean, really:  “How about you just let me handle it?” It doesn’t get much more arrogant than that.

Monday morning, about 9:05, Brandon said, “How about you call the accountant’s office, just to make sure it’s really tomorrow?”

“Fine, but it is. It’d be a little late anyway, because we’d have to be there right now if it was today.” Whoa. Talk about a little too big for my britches, huh? Oh, if only I could go back and talk some sense into that overconfident girl.

…And tell her how awful the past 26 hours of gnawing on those words have been.

Because when I called, and told the receptionist I wanted to double-check on the day of our meeting, “because one of us thinks it’s today, and the other thinks it’s tomorrow,” (See how nice I was? I was trying to protect my husband from being publicly wrong – since I knew he was – by not stating which “one” of us believed what.) I did not get the news I was expecting.

She actually put the accountant himself on the phone to deliver the news. He was understanding, and politely rescheduled us for today, since we were already ten minutes late for our actual meeting.

But the worst part was telling all this to Brandon. I’m sure he still would have slung it in my face plenty that he was right, but all the comments I made over-asserting my opinion just buried me.

And of course, he was concerned about other people knowing who was right.

“So did you tell them which one of us had the right day?” he asked.

“No, because I didn’t say which of thought what in the beginning, and they didn’t ask afterward.”

“So they don’t know you were wrong?”

“No.”

“Well, I need credit for this. You’ve got to blog it.”

And there you have it. The day Katie was wrong.

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