Dear Daylight Savings Time, it’s not me, it’s you and that’s okay – you meant well. It’s not like we have any kids to worry about. There’s no valuable property. Just time. Precious time. Again, it’s not me, it’s most definitely you. This relationship isn’t working for me anymore. We live in a time where time is our most precious commodity and convenience is more valuable than money and yours is up.
I’ll tell ya what. Sunday I’ll give you a half an hour. No more, no less. Split it right down the middle but that’s it. After this last compromise I’m done. Never again. Come fall I don’t want you drunk dialing me at midnight begging me to give you a half an hour back. Don’t come to my window next spring and try and slip me a half an hour. I’m not asking the judge for anything. I’ll forget all the pain you’ve caused me; lost sleep, late appointments, dead groggy drivers, I won’t say I told you so, I won’t celebrate or post how happy I am that you’re gone on Facebook.
Just take my half an hour and go away and never look back… but leave the Keurig, I’ll need it Monday morning, you owe me that much.