The Big Hand is On…Wait! There Are No Hands!

In response to my smart-aleck husband’s comment, “You think she is forgetful, wait ’til she tries to tell you what time it is in her car”, I write this. This has to do with my dental visits, oddly enough. On Wednesday, the day of my initial consultation, I left my headlights on when I went into the office and returned to find my battery dead. I was in there for just under an hour, and all I got was a few clicks when I turned my key.

Because the only folks I saw walking around nearby were very elderly (I’m talking unsure-on-their-feet elderly, here) I didn’t want to ask for someone to jump my poor battery. I called my knight in shining armor, instead. He drove out to jump my car, bless his heart, and I went on my merry way to finish my errands.

This is where the confusion began. Flash forward to Thursday morning. I noticed the car’s clock was off, but not by very much. As I drove to the dentist’s office, I did some mental calculations (and this is the source of my DH’s smart-aleck glee). I knew that my car’s clock had been an hour fast (due to the time change and my reluctance to figure out how to reprogram it on this goofy car stereo). I was fine with the discrepancy; I just remembered it was an hour fast and I was okay with that. But then came the dead battery.

No problem…My car’s clock had been an hour fast before, so I subtracted an hour. I realized that it had been 11:30am when Howie jumped the battery, which in turn re-set the clock to Noon. Okay, so it also gained a half hour. So what did I do? The logical thing: I subtracted an hour to compensate for daylight savings, then added that other half hour back in to arrive at the right time. With me so far?

I picked Howie up at work Thursday evening so we could have a little date and go out to dinner together on his lunch hour (Pizza Cottage’s BLT pizza, yum!). We weren’t sure how long we’d be gone, so I consulted the car stereo’s clock. As we drove back to his job, I noted the time and explained how I figured the right time now.

Honestly, up until that moment, it made perfect sense to me. As I explained it to him, however, the utter ludicrousness of my methodology became painfully apparent. After he roared with laughter (right along with me, might I add) there was a pause. I said, “Please don’t tell anyone this”.

He replied, “that’s so confusing I wouldn’t begin to know how to tell anyone what you were thinking.” Now, THAT’S bad.

Are you glad I am not an accountant? Are you relieved I do not chart airline traffic? Do you consider yourself blessed it is not I who handles payroll at your company? You should be. I’m a word-woman, definitely not a math-matron. My Indian name would be She Who Murders Numbers, I think.

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