Bobbing Along

It’s that time of year…the “good” half of the twice-yearly “Change Your Clocks, Stupid” event. I would like to say that I actually got that promised extra hour of sleep, but living with Mr. “Rise And Shine! Look! It’s Sunny! What’s for Breakfast?!” Owens makes that a little impossible. Errgghhh.

Once I rose and shone and looked at the sun and fixed eggs and toast AND SENT HIM OUTSIDE TO PLAY, I decided to be smart—technologically smart, if you will. I decided to carry my cellphone with me as I changed all the timepieces scattered throughout this house in an attempt to have all clocks in sync. It beats my normal pattern of looking at one clock, racing to the next room, trying to guess how long it took me to get there so I could add the supposedly-appropriate extra minutes once I figured out how to change the time on the clock at hand. At least using my cell phone as a guide, I would have a better-than-average chance of getting the same time on each clock. I really don’t care if my clocks give the wrong time, as long as every clock is the SAME WRONG TIME. Catch my drift?

Thus I proceeded to prowl through the house, trying to change the time on each and every blessed clock. As I went, I realized that in the world of clock manufacturing, there must be someone whose task it is to design a completely different method of setting the time for each and every clock produced. And that someone is doing one helluva job. Every clock in this house does it differently. Each method is more frustrating and confusing and headache-provoking than the last. With or without the cellphone, this process is a royal pain in the arse. SO. Though it is only 10:53 EST now, that makes it 11:53 DST and that makes it ALMOST noon. And I think it’s time for a drink. Of wine. Now.

I could call it communion and be done with it, yes? Bless my little pointed head.