Sunday was my favorite day of the year. I say this because at 2AM, we got to take back that lovely hour that the time fascists so brazenly stole from us last spring. Granted, if they hadn't done so I would have had little cause for celebration, but there's the principle of the thing. My hour belongs where it belongs and no where else, Gnomes of Greenwich be damned.

ahem.

And now for your pleasure, I'll share a horror story. A while ago, during an ill-advised late night road trip to the Cape, some friends and I became horribly lost in a town called Dennis. As we drove along, we kept passing by a remarkably familiar sign. "Welcome to Dennis" it said in happy script. The weird thing, we kept passing this sign in spite of never having taken a turn. We just kept traveling down the same strip of road and kept passing the same cheery sign welcoming us to a town we never intended to be in in the first place. We began to panic.

After about the sixth time past this sign, a helpful town police officer who had been watching us do our laps stopped us. When he walked over to the car and asked if there was a problem, all of us said in one voice, "How do we get out of Dennis??"

He laughed. "You'd be surprised how often this happens."