It's come around again, the leap year and an extra day added in, although it gives all the clocks and calendars time to reset themselves it doesn't quite meet the mark. For there are also a few minutes lost. To be absolutely correct it's 11 minutes and 14 seconds, but I note we do not change our watches This would suggest over a number of years the actual time may not relate fully to the day. After a few hundred years if we carry on getting up at say 6 a.m. in the morning it could end up we get up in the middle of the night. Just because all of those 11 minutes and 14 seconds have added up to an accumulative deficit. We're in effect going backwards. This is worrying I don't want to get up for the Fish Factory when I have only just gone to bed. Something will need to be done.
The other day I was chatting to Sparkling via text message and she advised me about a little job she has. A little job for me. It is to paint the kitchen. I can understand this is to ensure I have something to do when I next see her, which is only a couple of days away and I don't mind doing things, except we are talking about pink. Pink is not something men like to talk about or be associated with. It is better for us to stay away from pink because we get ill. There is no doubt a definite gender thing going on here, but it is very true and it could be genetic when I think about it. There are few men in the world who would actually say they like pink, and if there is some then you first have to ask yourself if they are colour blind. And then hope they are not electricians by occupation. I don't fretted pink would bring me out in a rash and I would start to sing Dolly Parton songs. This was a mistake because ten minutes later I found myself humming From 9 to 5 and thinking of Dolly. OK I may of had an extra spring in my step at the time however, this was a psychosomatic spring brought on just by discussing the colour pink. See even the subtle undertones of text can have an effect on the mind. Tiny pink excitable brain receptors had been set of to spark. No doubt they had been neglected since the last leap year. Or leap day.
It is said on this day it is OK for a woman to ask a man if he would like to get married. Many men would go down with mysterious illnesses. Some would lock themselves away in a bunker, with a dozen DVDs, several pizza's and a few cans of beer. They would then emerge in March wiping their brow and knowing the world was safe again to come out of the dark. Those men were sensible, they knew the best place to be. No doubt those warm safe bunkers were not painted pink either. For this would of been anathema and been akin to have gender reassignment. The stubble on their chin was not just a good mark of hormonal growth but it showed they had been through a one day war and come through the other side, victorious. They didn't care for the extra 11 minutes either, because sometimes sacrifices have to be made and losing 11 minutes of your life every four years isn't so bad after all.
Unfortunately the future may mean the world runs on atomic clocks so everything is perfectly synchronised. Whether those men can then emerge at the right time will be a daunting prospect, and indeed what time is right? A time when pink is relegated to some other place, far, far away. Like Belgium, where chocolate makes up for it.
No comments:
Post a Comment