Daylight saving time is my salvation

This date is circled on my calendar; to the side is a pair of eyeglasses drawn on a pathetic, pale stick figure. Yet, I look forward to this date more than my own birthday. Since I always lie about my age, I have no idea when that birthday is anyway.

After a long, cold, dark winter, the second Sunday in March is designated as the start of daylight saving time. That means the clocks are set an hour ahead.

Fortunately, most houses of worship on this Sunday make allowances for the inability of the average American to have any kind of memory from one year to the next, and the reason the parking lot is empty is because the event planned took place an hour ago. That includes people’s own weddings and funerals.

For me, daylight saving time is like having cataract surgery. I no longer have to grope my way out to my car after work in a murky sea of darkness.  Not that I have any real plans at the end of the day. It’s understandable to spend considerable time talking in the parking lot with your colleagues about events for the evening, only to find out you are addressing a massive pine tree growing near the front of the building. Clarity is everything.

When the sky gets dark, I go into what is called night blindness, with little peripheral vision to rely upon.  That means when I am driving, I often have problems knowing the difference between a red-haired person lying in the middle of the road and an orange cone tipped over on its side. Many times I’ve stopped and administered CPR, after I’ve called 911, only to be mollified by the fire department responders who are rolling around, holding their sides, while they fill out their report.

My eyeglasses are no help; they often make me look like Groucho Marx. Somehow eyewear never seems as glamorous as those models wearing glasses make them look in the 300-pound issue of Vogue magazine. Those glasses look like fun, like they have their own life and go to parties until the break of dawn.

Stuff happens when it’s dark. Just ask any vampire. I once mistook a set of brake lights in front of me for a horse on fire galloping straight toward my car. No one was amused by my effort to reroute traffic.

But it’s not just driving that is problematic for many folks when the sun sets so early. It can be a social problem as well. I’ve gone to gatherings where people are sort of just spaces of black protoplasm, where they move and slither around. I always throw in words that connect to a discussion on climate change, the rain forest, global warming and nuclear disarmament, just because I don’t know who I am talking to, which happens a lot. It’s important to appear as if I can identify people, which is why I rarely participate in police lineups.

Without glasses, sometimes I find myself actually sitting on a panel, particularly if I am at one of those events that takes place in a ballroom. I don’t know how I could have mistaken the seat up front on the stage for one down in the audience.

Sometimes the early darkness can work to your advantage, though. By the end of the day, no one is able to see that it takes you 58 layers of under-eye concealer and 100 pounds of foundation so as not to scare the living daylights out of infants.

In any case, I will be thrilled to see daylight stretch its legs out just a little longer. But then, I guess it will be darker when I have to get up in the morning. Or maybe not.

Heck, no wonder Congress recesses and gets out of town. They probably can’t figure out whether they are coming or going. Remember, though, March always has the phrase, “The Ides of March.”