Down with DSH*T!

Daylight “saving” time. Seriously?

Pretty cheeky, if you ask me, when “The Powers That Be and Always Know Best” break into your house in the middle of the night and hack away at what precious few hours of quality sleep you do manage to get and can’t afford to lose.

Daylight saving time (DST) should be renamed “Daily shaving time” (DSH*T!).

One look at me on a dance floor proves beyond any reasonable doubt my lack of natural tempo, so to take my random “your guess is a good as mine” circadian rhythm and flatten it even more is not just dropping a DSH*T-dipped disco ball at 2:00 a.m. but spiking it and dancing a little time zone victory dance on top of my hazy and disoriented head to boot.

Neither the Greek god Cronos nor Father Time, waving around that terrorizing TikTok scythe of his, have claimed responsibility. In fact, during a hastily called, “last minute” news conference, they maintained a somewhat implausible deniability and vehemently opposed any accusations of “tinkering with or wrinkling of time.”

They went on to say they were “horrified by this hugely horological hubris,” and, like everyone else, blamed “the Millennials” for all the DSH*T!

I know there are probably a few logical arguments in favor of DSH*T!, but I can’t even begin to formulate any at this moment due to the lingering zero-visibility brain fog.

However, if you’re a watch collector nerd like me, people are counting on you to count the minutes. Who else is going to rise up and “spring forward” first thing in the morning (okay, maybe second) and take on the challenge of resetting the digital time displays on the coffeemaker, microwave, and stove, not to mention all my watches?

A highly decorated member of The Honorable Order of Horological Household Timekeepers like me, that’s who.

How many watches, you ask? I would like to think “just the right amount with maybe a little room for a few more.” And, yes, it is totally normal and rational to switch out watches several times a day depending on what mood you’re in.

Needless to say, setting the so-called “correct time” took some. But when I was done, for a few fleeting moments before entropy started setting in, I basked in the warm, but no-longer-radioactive, lume of rare and perfect synchrony.

I had set every watch and clock I could get my hour, minute, and seconds hands on to not one, but two time zones—DSH*T! and OCD.

Our replica Swiss Railroad wall clock in the kitchen, you know, the one that supposedly “always runs on time,” was the most resistant to DSH*T!. It’s connected to WiFi and was supposed to recognize DSH*T! when it saw it and upshift automatically.

But it had been “trained” well, so to speak, and steadfastly resisted resetting. It took several rounds of more extreme “enhanced calibration” before it finally broke and submitted to DSH*T!.

I know what you’re thinking: Why all the fuss about DSH*T! when I’m going to get the hour back in the fall anyway?

Well, it will take my vintage body clock 6 months to reset. When it does, I will be waking up an hour earlier than I want to, which will drive me cuckoo.

And so will the dogs. Dogs don’t tell time, but they listen to their stomachs and make great alarm clocks.

They’re always ready to eat, anytime day or night, 24/7/365.