Now, where the hell did I put that ladder? I'm in the garage trying to remember where I stashed that rickety wooden step-ladder that is needed no more than two times a year for changing the batteries in my smoke alarms AND the clocks--all of them--because the government insists on either adding or stealing an hour from our day.
Here's my message to all the states who participate in this annual nonsense: CUT IT OUT! Make up your mind already! Either keep the clocks on daylight saving time (my recommendation) or lock us in to standard time and be done with it. Some states and territories already refuse to participate in this semi-annual nonsense which already makes for plenty of confusion for their neighboring states and drunk dialing relatives residing more than a couple of time zones away.
Maybe we should all merely frolic in a time zone of our invention. How about the Jimmy Buffett time zone? JBT, where it's always five PM. Works for me. No need to set your clock to any time other than the cocktail hour come this Sunday. (Sometimes I dazzle myself with good old common sense.) Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a happy hour out there with my name on it.
And, just a minute, there's my hammock ready to rock me into a short nap.
In life, pain is mandatory but suffering is optional. The ladder is all yours.
"Come on FIVE O'CLOCK!" |
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