CAROL STARED AT ME, sure I’d lost my coconuts. “You’re going to pick me up. . . when???”

“Five a.m.”

“So that means. . . I’ll have to get up at four a.m.!?”

“Yes. . . oh my gosh, me too!” Now, that was a sobering thought.

Sleep deprivation was beginning to set in, just talking about it.

Dear God, what was I thinking? When my friend Julie had phoned me up a month ago and gushed, “Want to share a booth at the LA Times Festival of Books next month?” I had been ecstatic. Woo hoo!

Exposure! Sales! And finally, a chance to do my stand-up routine before a real live audience – instead of the mirror in the bathroom. Yippee!

Four weeks, muchos dineros, and several emotional crises later, it’s April 17th – the eve of the festival – and I am draggin’ my little red wagon. Already!

I was doing pretty good, honest. Up until April 15th, that is. But really, I should have seen it coming. Nobody likes the Ides of April. It’s positively un-American to feel good on tax day.

This particular tax day, I’d rolled over in bed at 5 a.m. (that sound familiar?) and checked my cell phone. A text from my great friend and gifted illustrator, Super Daddy-Hubby-Teacher-Student Dave woke me up in a hurry.

“Mary, I’ve had terrible fatigue lately and have struggled to get the greeting cards done. If we rush-ship them tomorrow, will you get them in time?”

Ooh, I didn’t like the sound of that. I had the distinct impression that Dave knew I could easily get a parcel on Friday, if he rush-shipped it to me on Thursday. What he was really doing was softening the blow. I read between the lines and deciphered his real message: “You’re not getting a single greeting card from me for the festival. Can you ever forgive me???”

Several furious texts later, we decided that Dave would email his files to a Mr. Speedo Print Oh near me, where they would print them up, and I would pick them up. A false sense of security set in and I got up and made myself a cup of tea.

That “security” persisted until 9 pm that night, when I received a call from Super Daddy-Hubby-Teacher-Student Dave. “Mary, I don’t have anything ready to send to Mr. Speedo Print Oh,” he confessed, “except for the three cards we did at the book launch in September”

Three cards. Ouch. I had planned for twelve, counted on twelve, and bought display units for twelve. What I said next wasn’t nice. But thankfully, it was brief.

So I phoned Mr. Speedo Print Oh and explained that the large rush order I’d arranged with them – wasn’t going to be so large, after all.

The next morning (the 16th) I felt like a heel. When Dave had illustrated my book, he’d been a grad student, and created most of the illustrations while on break from classes. But since we’d published the book and decided to turn his illustrations into greeting cards, Dave had morphed from being Hubby-Student Dave into Daddy-Hubby-Teacher-Student Dave.

That’s a surplus of hyphenates, for anyone’s identity! And it comes with its own brand of surplus surprises, surplus stress, and surplus to-do lists. He wasn’t fatigued. He was sleep-deprived!

I needed to be more understanding. So I texted Dave an apology for my brief lapse of nice-ness from the night before, and lo and behold – that night Dave sent three more files to Mr. Speedo Print Oh.

Six greeting cards. I would have six greeting cards to sell at the festival! Wow, I felt like I’d won the lottery.

Too bad I didn’t get my request in on time, to do that stand-up gig on one of the festival’s many stages. Hey, looks like I’m not the only one who has trouble with deadlines.

Hmmm. Wonder what my excuse could be. . . temporary insanity?

After all, what was I thinking!

(NOTE: Mary will be signing books in Booth 536 at the LA Times Book Festival, this weekend, April 18th and 19th on the USC campus. Admission is free. If you stop by and say, “I feel your pain, MMQ,” you will win a FREE AUDIO BOOK WORTH $22!)

(OMG, what is she thinking!?)