Does anybody really know what time it is?

Mercury is careening enthusiastically, if not always consciously, through Aries. Perhaps this explains a recent spate of rather retrograde-ish scheduling bloopers around here. It goes like this.

We had planned a small dinner party for Saturday night with a few friends. On Friday evening, one of the invited rings us up. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he apologizes. "I'm running a little late." My husband informs him that he is, in fact, running about 23 hours and 30 minutes early. We all have a good chuckle and go about our business.

Saturday morning. The spouse and I leap from our bed at a thoroughly unacceptable hour, lash up some coffee and a couple of bagels for the road, and head over to a friend's house to lend support for his yard sale. We arrive to find only a yard. Puzzled, we skulk home, where a closer review of his email reveals that the sale is, in fact, next Saturday.

Saturday evening, 5:30. I'm in the boudoir performing pre-party ablutions when the spouse pops his head in to let me know a guest has arrived. "But we said 6:30!" I whine, mid-coif. Except, as the friends who show up a half-hour later remind us, we actually said 6:00.

But who's keeping track.