Leap Year: the day that never was, but probably should be.

Happy Hump Day!  Err, I mean, Happy Leap Day.  Or, um, wait, can a day be both leap and hump?  I feel like either we’re doing something here that defies both the Newtonian and Einsteinian physical models of the universe, or worse, something that one’s mother shouldn’t find out about.

Maybe let’s keep it on the down-low, just to be safe?

More seriously, though, I feel like I’m getting gypped today.  This year has a whole extra day in it, 24 guilt-free hours, to be used as you like.  Except, they’re not really to be used as we like.  It’s not a holiday in any way shape or form: federal, secular, unrecognized, or even one of the 217 French labor holidays, like Pain Perdu* Day or anything. 

Nope, today is just, well, Wednesday.

Leap year should get it’s own day, Leipzday or something. The calendar shouldn’t just have an extra Wednesday.  The way we do it now, instead of getting a tidy little congratulations-for-making-it-through-another-4-years-of-this-nonsense bonus, it’s actually an extra day for all of us rats to spin the cage wheel.  Now, I suppose that might be okay if there was, like, cheese or something—a nice aged gouda, perhaps—at the end of that wheel race.  But no. If we’re lucky, we’ll get one of those fibery pellet things that seems like food, but really isn’t.

You know, like pink slime beef, uh, pellets.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, so everyone who follows the modern Julian calendar gets an extra day this year, and that day is today.  Unfortunately, instead of doing something truly worthy of an event that comes only every four years, like an all-day “hour happy” starting at lunch or a twelve-hour Little House on the Prairie TV marathon in one’s jammies, most of us will waste our bonus day working for The Man.

If you ask me, that sucks as much as being packed in a 1962 VB Beetle with the entire staff of Ringling Bros’ clowns after an all-you-can-eat taco bar.

I say we carpe the diem here, people.  But before everyone’s beanies get all wrinkled up, I’m not some commie suggesting we all stage a walkout and demand our Leap Day rights.  Yes, put that picket sign down, granny.  What I do mean is, maybe let the brown bag sit for a day and treat yourself a nice lunch.  Or, skip the evening dinner dash to get the Hamburger Helper on the table and pick up something on the way home.  Later on, why not relax tonight with a hot bath, a glass of wine, and this week’s People magazine.  Err…I mean, a six-pack of some really strong IPA and an action movie with a ton of stuff blowing-up.

Whatever, do something special for yourself today.  Sure, “Leap Year” isn’t really that big a deal, but it should be.  You passed Go! four times since the last leap year, and hopefully never got sent to Jail.  I’d say that’s something to celebrate.

Even if it’s only with a cheese coney and a good beer.

Which damn sure beats a taco bar with a crapton of scary clowns.

Pud’n


*That’s French Toast to you and me, Russ

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