Among my many (ahem) virtues, it has never been one of them.
Cooking rice? I always lift the lid.
Baking? The oven light is constantly on. Ditto opening the oven door.
Reading? Although I can plow through books a thousand pages long, I have been known, on occasion mind you, to skip to the back to find out the ending.
Traffic? I stew and hurl silent invectives since I have a preschooler in the back.
Lines? I am sure there is more than one store camera that has caught me rolling my eyes and sighing loudly as the woman in front of me takes forever to get out her checkbook and painstakingly write out the whole thing after all her things have been scanned. And then she needs to ask the total again because it's taken so long that she has forgotten and oh my, where is her driver's license anyway....
However, oddly enough, I'm not a big fan of running. Something about the effort and all. Just kinda turns me off. A little. Ok, a lot.
So with the exception of running, I am not a patient person.
There are things in my life right now that require exactly that. I'm not talking about dealing with my son and his penchant for taking a lifetime to put on one sock, no, these are biggies. One large issue requiring patience throws me. Give me more than one and it begins to be a bit more than I can handle in a ladylike manner. Worse, some of them are completely out of my control. Even though I assure you, my friends, that I am not a control freak, it's tough. Stop that snickering, I can hear you, you know.
I feel like I should be digging deep within myself for that strength of character, that inner power that will keep me afloat in these difficult times.
Except I'm standing here with a big pile of dirt behind me, and so far, I've only hit a gas pipe.