The Times They Are A-changin'

"What time is it?" I asked Pete when I heard him returning from the bathroom and turning on the clock's ghostly light.


"5:30," he said.


"Great. Close enough," I replied as I threw back my bedding and made my way out the room, pulling the door closed behind me.


I looked at the smart clock in the living room as I closed that bedroom door.


4:37 shined bright.


"Shit. Idiot," I said to myself. Having already closed the door, I decided to go downstairs and find a child's bed to climb into. Going through the kitchen, I spotted the microwave clock.


5:37 shined bright.


"What the hell?" I thought. "Damn. The clocks go back! Crap."


And then the dog appeared, wagging her tail excitedly because hey, here's the lady who walks her and feeds her and lets her out.


"No," I whispered. "Shhhhhh. Be quiet."


I went to Youngest's room, turned on the light, cleared off her bed, turned off the light and climbed in, calling the Wonder Mutt up. [Sorry, Pete, but I broke the rule so you could keep sleeping beyond the new 4:37.]


I laid in bed pondering my predicament: I was awake but it was too early to screw around on the computer and I couldn't wander the halls for a book nor did I want to read Captain Underpants again.


"Stupid time change," I thought.


Then it hit me: Congress had altered the dates for Daylight Savings Time. The smart clock was obviously not smart enough to understand the goings-on in D.C. It was still programmed to change at the old times.


"Hooray! It's nearly 6 o'clock," I thought, climbing out of bed and telling the dog to stay there.


I still hate Congress, but at least I slept to nearly 6 a.m. today.