You don’t hear much about it, but daylight-saving time is a major cause of divorce. I don’t know why the Legislature doesn’t do something about it.
In our half century of marriage, my wife Marilyn always pooh-poohed that notion, because she said the battle of the sexes was impossible to win anyway. Too much fraternization with the enemy, she said.
By that analysis I should have known better than to seek her help figuring out daylight-saving time. I asked Marilyn, “Now that the politicians have us approaching standard time again, will it be dark or light when I get up in the morning?”
“Depends on when you get up and where you are.”
“Yes, but do I shift ahead or back?”
“You don’t shift,” she said. “Time does. In the spring, it leaps forward, while in October it falls back. You see, it’s man made.”
I didn’t understand, so I tried a new tack. “When I let the dog out, will it be light or dark?”
“How do you know?”
“Because your stupid dog always wants out at midnight,” she said. “It’s always dark at midnight unless you reside in Point Barrow, Alaska, in the summer.”
She paused to analyze the blank look on my face.
“I’ll put it another way: Can you remember ever seeing your dog cast a shadow?”
“No, but I can’t remember what I had for breakfast either,” I said. “What I still need to know is, will it be light or dark at 6:30 in the morning when daylight-saving time is gone?”
“What day are you talking about?”
“What difference does that make?”
“I don’t do weekends,” she said. “I always sleep late.”
“OK, let’s say a Tuesday,” I said.
“Is that your final answer?” she said. “Are you going to stick with Tuesday, or are you going to flip-flop back and forth between Saturday or Sunday?”
“I’ll stick with Tuesday, Regis.”
“The first Tuesday in November is election day,” she said. “Everyone will be hung over from rhetoric indulgi. Can’t you pick another day?”
“You’re right. Let’s go with a Monday in November.”
She cocked her head. “Are you thinking about taking up jogging again for the hundredth time? Is that why you want to know if it’s light at 6:30?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe I’ll take up golf again, or a little morning meditation. That’s why I want to know when to get up.”
“If you’re going back to golf, you’d better call the bank for a line of credit,” she said. “Golf balls and plane tickets to Europe are expensive these days.”
“I’m not waiting for you every day to come home all sweaty and crabby,” she said. “I’m going to have some fun. Europe sounds good. Are you straight on that?”
“Right,” I said. “Now, can you tell me if it will be light at 6:30 on a Monday morning in November?”
“What does that mean?”
She folded her arms and looked smug. “Maybe I’ll tell you, and maybe I won’t. You see, I always shower at 6:30 in the morning. I don’t pay attention to daylight. All I want is plenty of hot water and a good shampoo.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Are we in the same band?”
She sighed. “Listen, don’t hand me any nonsense about meditation. The last time you tried it the neighbors called the police. And while we’re on the subject,” she went on, “what’s the name of a good divorce lawyer?”
Bob Huber is a retired journalist living in Portales. He can be contacted at 356-3674.