Trivia and Taxes

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Sometimes I feel as if I’m always about two paces behind the rest of the world and trying to keep up. I just don’t seem to be able to get everything done. I hate people who are always late, always making excuses — and now I’m becoming one of them.

I put off things that I don’t want to do, like pay my income taxes, for instance. That’s something that you can’t put off too long unless you want to end up in big trouble. But I can put it off for a little while — so I do.

I already have the tax form filled out, and that’s the hard part. Well, actually, the hard part is getting all the receipts and information together. I put that off too, but I finally got my act together about mid March.

So, my taxes were filed electronically. All I have to do is write out a check. Why do I keep waiting until the last minute? It is going to cost the same amount regardless.

And I need to make hotel reservations for a vacation. It’s a phone call, that’s all. The plane tickets are reserved, but for some strange reason I keep putting off the call to the hotel. I’ll do it tomorrow when I have more time.

But I never have more time.

I’m putting off doctor appointments until my prescriptions run out and I either have to make an appointment or do without medicine. And the dentist? Forget it! I post-phoned my appointment and changed it to a later date when have more time.

“Just do it and get it over with,” says my honey. Yes, I know, but there’s always tomorrow. Why be in a hurry? And because I’m not in a hurry, it never gets done.

Finally, last night, things caved in on me.

I called the hotel and the rooms were all booked. They squeezed me in. I have to get organized as my life has gone askew. It is the small things, the easy things, but when the list gets long enough, it becomes a big thing, like carrying around a backpack of bricks.

I finally buckled and tried to do everything in one evening.

I thought I was finished, until today when I started to remember the things that I forgot to do — like send the lawn guy a check for mowing the yard. I really meant to do that too. When my grass is six inches high, I’ll be asking, Did I remember to pay him?

My life is consumed by trivia, details, small stuff. It’s the minor things in life that rule. Small things should only take a minute or two, but when all the minutes are end to end, they reach into eternity.

I have no time. I have no life. It is consumed with trivial pursuit, unimportant stuff, minor details that become major because they don’t get done.

Maybe I’ll turn over a new leaf. Maybe I’ll start doing things as they come up instead of letting them go until they can go on no longer.

Who am I kidding? I’m thinking of ways to avoid doing what I don’t want to do right now. I need to go to the post office, but it looks as if it may rain. I can get stamps tomorrow.

It’s easier to make excuses than to make a “to do” list. Somehow it makes me feel important to believe that I don’t have time.

I just hope the IRS will understand.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Finance, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

OED says OMG, FYI, LOL is OK


If you know what the title of this article means, you are probably now in the majority of English language users. Yes, these abbreviations, formerly the property of young people sending text messages, are now considered actual words.

“Who says,” you say? Oxford English Dictionary, or OED, as they define themselves in their own dictionary.

OED is considered by most experts to be the word on words, or final authority on what is considered authentic usage. The English language is constantly changing, and the OED updates four times a year to stay up with the latest trends.

So, while you are busy telling kids to straighten up, quit being too lazy to spell out words, get rid of the chewing gum, and pull up their pants, the dictionary is telling them what an old fuddy-duddy you are and that common electronic abbreviations are perfectly OK for everyday use.

A word is considered a word when it comes into common usage and most people know what it means. Words no longer come into use from teachers or wordsmiths who generally respect formal language and grammar usage. Words now sneak into the vocabulary online through the back door of the internet in apps (applications) such as Twitter, where the number of characters used in a message is limited and you can say more by saying less.

Text messages on smart phones simply take too long if you use enough time to type out an entire word say many users, and so words are abbreviated in a clever way that makes sense to the sender and receiver, even if it does not make sense to anyone else. Some of the abbreviations make more sense than others, and before you know it, everyone is jumping on the abbreviation bandwagon. Part of the attraction of using the abbreviations is being in the know and on the cutting edge of a new trend.

I must admit that I’ve been guilty of using all of these abbreviations in informal writing, and even a few others that I can’t mention here because the dictionary doesn’t approve of them, at least not yet. However, now that certain text message abbreviations have been officially anointed and blessed by the dictionary writers, we can probably expect to see them popping up in all sorts of places: newspapers, magazines, articles and books as well as on our cell phones.

If you are behind the times, you can only blame yourself. While you were busy worrying about minor details, such as whether Google is a noun or a verb, the language kept right on going down the information highway as fast as the internet could carry it. BTW (by the way), Google is both a proper noun and a verb these days. Pretty soon it will probably be an adjective or an expletive.

I kind of suspected things were going south when the smiley came into common usage as a noun by using symbols that represent a smiling face. Now “heart” has gone in the same direction. We used to love finding a new way to express ourselves. Now we ❤ New York, not to mention 🙂 when we think something is funny. Words, it seems, just won’t behave themselves.

We tweet on Twitter, but tweets are tweets, not twits, which are still very foolish people. Of course, that could all change the next time the OED is updated. Maybe FYI, OMG, and LOL are not so bad after all.

There is one realy good thing about the ever-changing world of the dictionary, IMHO. That is that words can also fall into disfavor and be removed when they are no longer commonly used.

Some days I feeleth so old, if thou knowest what I mean.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Education, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Juggling Cars


I don’t know how I get myself in such a ridiculous situations, but I guess you could say I have a knack for it. What started out as a normal day, if there is such a thing in my life, turned out to be a nightmare. I was stranded at the office with no way to get home.

Morris and I usually carpool to work. He does the driving and I pay the parking. It all works out. But on this day Mo had to leave early for a doctor appointment. No big deal, I would just drive my own car.

However, my son had a problem. He had to take his truck downtown to get it worked on and needed a ride home. The truck had trouble starting, and as we all know, a vehicle that won’t start is no good to anyone.

Still not a problem, I could ride in with Mo and leave my car at home. My daughter could follow my son to the car dealership in my car and give him a ride back home. Then my son could pick me up after work, and I could drop him off at the dealership.

It was complicated, but it seemed workable.

About thirty minutes before the end of the day, I called home. So far the plan had gone smoothly, but the truck was not ready yet. What to do now? Daughter could drop son off and pick me up, but what if the truck had to stay until tomorrow?

She could pick me up and he could stay at home. But if the truck was finished, she would have to make two trips downtown in afternoon rush hour traffic.

By now I was getting lost in the variables. The clock was ticking, and I was at the office with no way to get home. This was not working out.

I had an idea. I’ll could call Mo at the doctor’s office and he could come get me. I called and called until he finally answered. Yes, he would come get me, but he had to go to the gas station first.

So, I waited. Fortunately, the office building stayed open late and I did not have to wait outside on the sidewalk.

The phone rang. Morris was calling to tell me he is here? Wrong! He was calling to tell me that he ran out of gas. The man has never run out of gas before in his entire life. But today, when I am stranded at the office, he was out of gas on the way to the gas station.

AAA would take forever, so my son would use my car to take him some gas and then Mo would come after me. He might be a little late … a little… he said.

Nothing is as much fun as sitting around the office after you have worked all day and are ready to go home.

Meanwhile, the car dealership called my son. The truck was ready, but my daughter couldn’t take my son to pick it up as he has the car. The two men decided that Mo would take my son to the dealership and then he would pick me up.

The phone rang again. It was Morris.

What? I have to wait until my son is done fooling with picking up his truck before he picks me up? “Since you are coming downtown, why don’t you just come get me?” We dropped my son off at the truck dealership and made it home in spite of rush hour traffic.

Somehow my daughter managed to avoid the entire mess. I think I met myself on the Interstate either coming or going, but I’m not sure if that was me or not. I might still be at the office.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Automotive, Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Sandwich

How complicated can a sandwich be? The act of buying a sandwich has become so difficult that it almost isn’t worth the trouble.
 
The other day I decided to have sandwiches instead of supper. It would only take a few minutes to make a sandwich and I wouldn’t have to cook. Honey had a better idea.
 
“I’m going to the grocery store. Want me to pick up something?” asked Honey.
 
“They have a deli there, don’t they? I’d like a ham and cheese sub.”
 
We have two delis across the street in a mini mall. Usually we go to one of them if we want a sub. But, since he is going to the grocery store anyhow, we might as well get something from there.
 
There is a standing joke at my house that any time Honey goes to the store by himself, he has to call home about something. Either he can’t find it, doesn’t know what to buy, or can’t read my writing on the list – always something.
 
I should have known he couldn’t buy a sandwich on his own. Sure enough, the phone rang. “I don’t know what to tell her about your sandwich.”
 
The man has an IQ of 150. He graduated from a major university. He is a computer security analyst.
 
How complicated can a sandwich be?
 
“Can you tell her what you want?” he asked. Soon I was talking to the sandwich lady on his cell phone.
 
“Ham and cheese.”
 
“What kind of ham, brand name or ours? What kind of cheese?”
 
I didn’t care what kind of ham, but I picked one. American cheese was fine, yellow, not white. Other than color, what’s the difference? I could only imagine how many varities of cheese there must be. I didn’t want to get sucked into discussing them.
 
“What kind of bread? White, wheat, multi-grain, honey wheat, yadda, yadda, yadda.” I forgot. They have a bakery.
 
“Wheat.” Bread is bread. Who cares what kind of bread?
 
“Half or whole sandwich?” Argh! I don’t know. How large is half a sandwich?
 
“Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, peppers, banana peppers, the entire produce department?” The questions are becoming complicated.

“Just lettuce and onion.”
 
“No pickles?” I’m certain from the tone of her voice that no one had ever turned down pickles before.
 
God help me. It’s only a sandwich, a sandwich, people.
 
“What kind of condiments?” she inquired.
 
I can’t stand it!
 
Before she went into her recorded message about 25 flavors of mustard, I interrupted. “Mustard, brown mustard if you have it.” Of course, they did. It’s a grocery store. They have everything.
 
“Salt and pepper? Vinegar and oil, oregano?”
 
“Okay.”
 
I thought she would ask what color of paper I wanted it wrapped in, but she didn’t. At least one thing is standard there.
 
Honey could guess about my preferences and come reasonably close to something eatable. I’m not really that particular and he knows, more or less, what I like. And if he messes up, I can fix it at home.
 
Apparently, sandwich making has become an art form. Books have probably been written. There are probably sandwich chefs, conassures, recipe books, cooking schools on how to prepare a sandwich correctly, and television shows to pick the best sandwich maker with a world-class sandwich chef to curse the students who do not know one slice of bread from another.
 
The humble sandwich has gone uptown on us. I didn’t know buying a sandwich would be a culinary experience.
 
In all the confusion, I forgot to ask her to toast it, so I had to eat a cold sandwich with too much black pepper on it. I didn’t even want pepper. I just didn’t want to turn her down again after rejecting the pickles.
 
I never imagined how complicated a sandwich can be.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss
 

 

Posted in Food, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Mama and the Thunderstorms

A line of servere weather is moving through the mid-south and it has stormed all night and all day. Any time we have thunder storms, it reminds me of my mother and her fear of storms.

We had an unusual number of storms when I was a child. I don’t know if there were actually more storms then, or if the storms were such memorable events that they were vividly impressed in my memory. I suspect the latter.

Mama was afraid of thunderstorms. While a normal amount of apprehension during severe weather is understandable, mama was afraid beyond anything close to reasonable.

Thunderstorms usually happened in the late afternoon, after the heat of the day had built up. When the rain was coming and the sky became dark, we were called inside to wait until the storm had passed. All the appliances had to be unplugged so the lightning would not run in on them. Everything was unplugged except the refrigerator, which was only unplugged if the storm was a really bad one.

We could not touch anything metal like a pair of scissors during a storm because metal conducted electricity. We could not, of course, take a bath or touch a water faucet because plumbing pipes conducted electricity. We could not talk on the phone, watch TV, or play the record player. I can’t remember if we were allowed to go to the bathroom, but I doubt it.

We could not play with the cat, because cats draw electricity. Mama had pretty rigid ideas about storms and didn’t worry about the difference between lightning and static electricity.

Sometimes mama would take us to a neighbor’s house when a storm was coming. I don’t know why the neighbor’s house was any safer than ours. Maybe there was safety in numbers, or maybe it was because the neighbor didn’t panic at every crash of thunder and the socializing helped take mama’s mind off the storm.

When we were at home during a storm, mama would pull the shades so she couldn’t see the lightning. I don’t think window shades provided much protection, especially since they could not keep out the thunder.  Mother would not cook or do any work until the storm was over. The kitchen was full of dangerous things, like appliances, plumbing, and metal.

Storms that came at night were especially frightening. First of all, you couldn’t see them coming and didn’t know it was storming until the thunder, or mama, woke you up. The lightning was even brighter at night. Mama made everyone get up and put clothes on or at least put on a bathrobe. I think the idea was that if the house was struck by lightning, we could run outside without the neighbors seeing us in pajamas.  

If it was an especially bad storm, the electricity might go out for a while. I don’t know why we didn’t just stay in bed and sleep instead of sitting up by candlelight.

One time the lightning did actually strike a transformer on the pole at the corner. Fortunately, the power surge only blew out the fuses instead of the refrigerator. This proved mama’s theory, however, that we were all going to be electrocuted by a storm one day.

One friend of mama was even more frightened of storms than she was and would sometimes come to stay with us if a storm came up. I don’t know why she came to mama for comfort. Maybe she just felt better knowing someone else was afraid. She would cry and cover her head with a pillow, saying that feathers repelled electricity. After my mother found out about feathers, she sometimes covered her head too.

I guess the feathers worked as mama was never electrocuted. The house was never struck by lightning and neither was the cat. I don’t know if the milk spoiled while the refrigerator was unplugged.  

As for me, I probably would not have grown up at all if it hadn’t been for mama looking out for me and keeping me out of harm’s way. At least, that is what mama would say.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Humor, Weather | Tagged , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Monitor Madness

There are many brilliant people employed in the invention, design, and manufacture and of household devices — unfortunately, none of them are ever involved with anything of mine.

This week it was the computer monitor that died. It didn’t go out in a shower of sparks like the kitchen range, or with the loud banging of a motor gone bad like the refrigerator, not in a puddle of water like the dishwasher, or with a tub full of water and wet clothes like the washer. It died quietly – it just refused to turn on.

I can’t say it was totally unexpected. It has been showing symptoms of distress for a while now. Sometimes the screen turned green, sometimes it turned red. I nearly always had to reboot before it came on in the normal color scheme.

It had cardiac arrest and quit working so many times I’ve lost count. The off button long ago quit functioning. The only way to boot it was to unplug it. Not very technical, but it worked. This seemed to provide enough of a shock to stimulate it back to life again.

Considering the bench charge, the cost of the parts and labor and the fact that it would still be a used piece of equipment, it wasn’t worth fixing. I would be better off just replacing it. Seems a lot of things are that way these days — disposable, cheaper to replace that to repair.

Ironically, what finally killed it was a power surge. We had an electrical outage. My lights were out, the neighbor’s lights were out and even the stoplights down at the corner were out. It must have been a malfunction of some sort at a relay station.

When the lights came back on, my computer monitor didn’t. I plugged and unplugged, booted and rebooted, tried prayer and chicken soup, but no amount of first aid could revive it this time.

“Could you pick up a new monitor for me tomorrow?” I asked my honey. He was going right by Best Buy on his way to an appointment.

“I can’t pick out a monitor for you. I don’t know what you want.”

“You picked out this one,” I reminded him.

That’s different. It was a gift.

Maybe you could gift me again?

“If you want a new monitor, why don’t we just go now?”

So we did.

When we got to the store, there were a dozen monitors. I looked around until a clerk spotted us. I explained the situation. He sympathized and then asked if we had seen the other monitors. “Other monitors?”

There was an entire wall full of nothing but computer monitors, all sizes all brands, all prices. I found one that I liked, a bit larger than my old one, and a bit more expensive, but isn’t everything?

Monitors now are LED HD, whatever that is. “Can your old computer support this?” asked the clerk, who was starting to smell a commission. Here we go, I thought, nothing is compatible with anything else. Planned obsolescence, they call it.

“What kind of plug does it have?” He showed me a blue plug on the new one.

Having recently taken the computer apart to move it, I remembered the blue plug.

“It will probably work,” he said. Thank goodness for blue plugs.

I bought the new monitor and took it home. This is going to be complicated I thought, looking at the installation disk. I attached the blue plug to the computer and turned it on. The monitor lit up, the screen adjusted automatically, and it sprang to life. No new hardware found, no drivers to install, no installation, no headache, no vomiting, no nothing.

So, I’m back in business again. It’s almost like having a new computer.

The next day I received a call. My son’s computer would not boot. We think it was fried by the power surge. It never ends, does it?

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Humor, Technology | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

The New Shoes

I am having shoe problems again. I love cute shoes but cannot wear high heel shoes. Ladies understand needing dozens of shoes. Men have two pairs and think that is enough. I got rid of anything with a heel, even a low heel. I hated parting with my shoes, but if you can’t wear them, why keep them?

Somehow, I can’t quit buying shoes. It’s like an addiction. I decided to buy some new shoes that were both comfortable and fashionable. Unfortunately, there is no such shoe. You can have one or the other but not both.

Last week I went shopping at the discount mall. As usual, I ended up in a shoe store. What is it with shoes? I convinced myself that I needed a new pair of black shoes for winter although it is almost over. There is always an excuse to shop for shoes.

Of course, what the stores had at this time of the year was not winter shoes, but sandals. I love sandals. All the good winter shoes are gone. What is left on the shelf is a size 9 or a size 4. I’m the world’s most common size — 7.

After trying three stores, I decided they didn’t make shoes in a size 7 any more. The lady at the cash register said they get four pairs of 7 for every style they have. But, four people must be standing in line to scoop them up.

So, I bought a cute pair of gold sandals instead. I needed a pair of gold sandals last summer and didn’t have any. So, here they are now that’s it’s too late. But who knows when I might need them again? And then since I couldn’t find the shoes I liked in black, I bought them in navy instead. That’s two pairs, but who’s counting?

Honey was ready to go home. “Put these shoes in the car. I think there is another shoe store that I didn’t check yet. They may have black.” He headed in one direction and I went the other. I rounded the corner and there it was — a NEW shoe store, only open for three days.

My heart was pounding. I LOVE their shoes! They are casual but dressy, comfortable but cute. And they came in BLACK — black 7. My debit card vibrated in my pocket, or was that my phone?

“Where are you?” honey asked.

“Come quick, I’m buying out the store.”

Have you seen these shoes? They are gym shoes, sort-of. But they are gym shoes gone fashionable. They feel like gym shoes, but they look like real shoes. It’s hard to explain.

I managed to stop looking after selecting only two pairs. Then honey showed up. He started looking at the men’s styles. As long as he was looking, I might as well look some more too. And when you look, you find. Next thing you know, I found a stylish brown pair.

They are really different, really cute, and really, really feel good. They won’t work for dressy occasions, but who dresses up these days anyhow?

Now I have to find a place in the closet to put them. I might have to get rid of some more of my older ones to make room. But who could pass up shoes this cute?

I’ve been thinking, maybe I will go back next weekend. After giving more of my old shoes away, I have more space in the closet now. And I really need a pair of black shoes for winter.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Fashion, Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

The Passenger Pickup Lane

Yesterday I went to purgatory — at least I call it purgatory. Most people call it the airport. .

It used to be fun to go to the airport and pick someone up and watch the planes come in. But now you can’t go where the planes are. You have to wait for arriving passengers at the security gates and hope they didn’t take the escalator that goes down to luggage pickup instead of coming back to the gates.
 
You might as well just pick someone up outside of the airport and be done with it. Everyone seems to have the same idea, though. Traffic circling the airport is like rush hour downtown.  

Our airport has a front way in and a back way in. We usually go the back way since it is closer to home and there is not as much traffic. This time we had to take the front way as we were coming from downtown. The road is wide and the traffic heavy as we enter purgatory.
 
There is a lane for everything, long-term parking, short-term parking, departures, arrivals, rental cars, taxis, busses, commuter vans, pickup lanes, drop-off lanes and lanes of no return. The lane we need to be in is always on the opposite side of the lane we are in. You need to really be careful in purgatory or you could find yourself on the fast road to a very bad place.  

The airport likes parkers who pay to park and they make it easy for them to get to the short-term parking lot. They do not like non-paying non-parkers who add to the congestion but not to the budget. At least it seems that way as we weave our way in and out of the confusing maze of traffic. There are signs, plenty of signs, even signs telling you to watch for other signs. 

How do you pick someone up outside the door when you are not allowed to park? We find a few slots by the door so we slide into one of those along with all the other people trying to pick up an arriver. “Ten minute parking” says the sign. “Leave your trunk open.” “No unattended vehicles,” “Cross your legs and wait.” Of course, Honey decides he needs to go inside to the bathroom and leaves me all alone to deal with purgatory.
 
When he comes back, the security guard tells us “Your time has run out.” So, we leave our empty spot for the other lost souls. Now in a holding pattern, we circle the airport, and circle, and circle like we are following a labyrinth.  

Finally, we notice a sign that says “cell phone lot.” In the back of my over-heated mind, I remember someone (probably a security guard) once told me that you could wait there for a flight to arrive. I don’t know why they don’t call it “short-term waiting lot”. So, we pull in and read more signs about not leaving your vehicle unattended while we wait for the much-lamented plane to arrive.  

An electronic sign flashes with arrival times for the incoming flights. There must be airplanes somewhere, even if we can’t see them. Our flight is arriving 15 minutes early. Good, we won’t have to wait much longer. Our person can call us when she gets here and we can circle around and pick her up.
 
Finally, our flight comes up and it’s back to timed parking where we are already on bad terms with security, but this time we actually find our passenger and make a clean getaway before time runs out and the security guard nabs us. 

Now if we can only find our way out of purgatory without going into a long-term parking lot or taking a shuttle. It is hard to avoid the front way as all roads lead to town. Finally, we find the narrow road for the back exit. The signs direct us to go north or south — but it’s an east/west road! Fortunately, we guessed right.  

My airport atonement is done for a while. I just hope I can make it home before my time runs out for good.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Only a Matter of Time


Are you on time? What time is it? Did you make it in time or has time run out? Are you out of time? Do you need more time? Are you saving time? Is it only a only a matter of time?

This weekend is the big focus on time as it is “Remember to reset the clock.” weekend. We are supposed to spring forward in March, losing an hour until we fall back in November.

I really hate all this time resetting stuff. My body doesn’t work right. My bio-rhythms are not synchronized. I stagger around half asleep for weeks because they took an hour away. And when I’ve finally adjusted, they change the time again.

Sure, more daylight in the evening will be nice, but moving daylight around isn’t actually saving anything. I go to bed at the same time, but my body thinks it is an hour earlier. So, I stay up later and then, can you believe it, I’m sleepy when I get up the next morning.

This stupidity needs to stop. There ought to be a law. Oh, wait, there is a law — except the law is that we all participate in this foolishness. Is there anyone anywhere who actually likes this daylight saving time stuff? If there is, we need to find that person and stomp him.

The entire thing doesn’t make a lot of sense. Everyone explains why in a different way. One person says the time change is from the olden days when we were an agrarian culture and needed more daylight time to work the farm.

Oh, please! Who farms anymore — maybe two percent of the population? Farms are giant corporate enterprises farming with machinery and turning out food by the truckloads. They really don’t need extra daylight to hitch up Old Nellie to the plow.

Others say it started because of the war. What war? World War II? The story goes that we saved energy and power for the war effort by messing with the time so that we have more daylight during the hours people are awake.

Actually, that makes more sense to me than the Farmer in the Dell story. Except, the war is over, people! It’s been over since before most of the population was even born. We’ve had, oh, about four or five wars since that one. Or didn’t they notice? Are we still fighting a war that ended years ago by setting our clocks forward and backwards?

I can’t stand it!

And some idiot decided it would be a good idea to make the nonsense a LAW? A law, people! We all have to do it because it’s the law. Except Arizona. Why not Arizona? Oh, who knows? Who cares? But if I adjust my entire life twice a year, Arizona should too.

All the people who hate daylight saving time used to threaten to move to Arizona and refuse to participate anymore. But that was before they found out about the dust storms. Maybe Arizona already had all the aggravation they could stand without adding time changes.

As you can see, the mere thought of a time change is making me grouchy already. Bah, humbug, people. Get out of my face. I have to check the smoke alarm. They not only take an hour they tell us check the batteries in the smoke alarm when the time changes.

They say that someday things may change but for right now we just have to live with it. But, I say NO! Return the clocks to the people. Forward this to every legislator you know and demand that politicians leave time alone!

But, would you mind if I make a quick trip and pick up some new batteries for the smoke alarm first?

Copyright 2011-2021 Sheila Moss
Edited

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