You see, I was supposed to be born sometime around late May. My birthday is on, drum roll... June 29th! Talk about being late! I was way late! My poor mother could not get this giant entity into the world fast enough. I was however very content not joining this world and staying home. Sometime around the 20th of June, they induced labor. I still would not budge, not an inch. So for the safety of my mother, they did a cesarean on me and extracted me kicking and screaming at 5:05 pm June 29, 1978.
As you can imagine, I was a big baby! I mean a big baby. A ten and one-half pound monster. A linebacker already. I had hair! And I don't just mean on my head. I was the first baby that had to shave on day one. You know those cigars that say it's a boy? My father got ones that say "It's a Man". When people would come to visit me while I was still in the incubator. They would ask dad which one was his. He would reply, "He's the one standing over there smoking and hitting on that nurse".
Things were slightly different for such a big baby. I drove my mother home from the hospital. I had to get a job from day one to offset my enormous food and beer consumption. Dating was hard too. I obviously could not date girls my own age. Even though there would not have been anything theoretically wrong with that; it would have looked very awkward.
To be quite honest, I loved being a big baby. I was a football star! I could buy all of my friends beer and make extra money. My teachers were terrified of me. And that always came in handy with me being late for everything.
And there you have it. The god honest truth on why I'm always and always will be late. Hey, don't get mad at me. I never wanted to be here in the first place. I was perfectly happy where I was.