So we lost an hour. I don't know about you, but I'm a little worried about which one it was. That's one thing the daylight saving people don't tell you.
They want you to think it was an hour of sleep. But I want to know exactly which hour it was... and what happened.
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Like, was it the hour that Publishers Clearing House came to the door to tell me I won $10 million dollars? And just as valuable, was it the hour that nobody asked me to get them a snack? I hope not. On both counts.
Could it have been that one hour I got to work out? Or that 60-minute window to run over to mall to pick through the 75-percent-off rack and find something fabulous and spring-transitional? Surely the daylight saving people wouldn't take that from me.
I hope it wasn't the hour during the results show of "American Idol." Because when I watch this week, I'll have to be cross-referencing everybody in my head, trying to figure out who's not there anymore. It'll totally ruin the show.
And I hope it wasn't that hour when I called Mom, plopped down in a chair and gabbed about all things kids, school, church, and what's going on back home.
I'll tell you which hour I hope it was. I hope it was that hour on the phone with technical support trying to get a virus off my computer. Oh, wait. That takes three hours.
Maybe it was an hour in the pediatrician's waiting room. Better yet, maybe it was an hour in the Urgent Care last night or first thing this morning, because you know it always happens on a weekend.
Maybe it was that hour after buying new dishes, spent picking price tags and all that sticky stuff off the bottoms. Hopefully it was an hour of doing laundry, cleaning bathrooms, or enduring a turbulent toddler temper tantrum.
The best hour would be that one where you go to pick up that dress you had altered, but they won't take a credit card, and the amount is too low for a check, and you have to go to an ATM at the grocery, but they don't have an ATM, and you have to buy a bottle of water so you can get cash back, and you buy an US magazine while you're at it, and then you go get your dress, but then sit in your car and read about Jake and Vienna's night out on the town. Gladly give up that hour.
An hour of carpooling, grocery shopping, bill paying - take it, daylight saving. Just don't take an hour alone with my husband. Or that first hour when the kids are in bed and that wonderful feeling of relief soaks in. Or any hour that involves lunch with a girlfriend, a pedicure, or someone asking if I lost weight.
I don't know. Maybe it is better if we believe it's just an hour of sleep.