The Ruby Rose Report: The Lost Hour

 

On Saturday night, I was happily sleeping in my bed when I got up to get a drink. The next thing I knew, I found myself on the kitchen floor, with a torn bag of Sizzlers scattered around me and crumbs surrounding me.

I quickly realized what had happened: time had jumped again, and I had lost an hour of my life.

I expected to be in terrible trouble, but my parents were preoccupied with their issues. My dad came inside wearing only his underwear, holding a penguin, while my mom was passed out in bed, clutching a bottle of tequila.

A lot can happen when you have an hour of your life stolen. We would have to wait until November to find out what we did, especially my dad, who had to put the angry penguin on the floor, only to have it bite him on the knee before waddling away.

I thought that would be the end of the drama for the weekend, but I was wrong.

The next morning, I was snuggled deep under the covers when I heard a loud squawk coming from the kitchen. I poked my head out and listened again.

I immediately knew what the squawking was about. The offended penguin had returned, accompanied by a marauding band of angry penguins seeking revenge for whatever my feather-obsessed father had done during that missing hour.

Mommy, who had 30 years of experience living with the Massachusetts bird man, told him to quell the squawking. Sadly, I had vowed to protect him, and when he walked into the kitchen, I dutifully followed.

When we reached the kitchen and didn’t see or smell any penguins, I hurried to the back of the couch to sit and shake with fear. It felt like enough to fend off a vengeful group of penguins, but they had made themselves invisible and masked their scents. Daddy was left to face them alone while I got on the back of the couch to shake.

Mommy, who had a Pocket full of experience with anxious dogs, sat with me, spoke softly, and rubbed my fur, which almost made the ordeal worthwhile.

Dad climbed onto a chair and took down an alarm that seemed to be an invisible penguin detector. He opened it and replaced the old battery with two new ones. My dad, who tends to measure once, cut ten times, and then blame the ruler and the saw, put the alarm back on the wall. Unfortunately, it squawked again, and he had to fix it a second time, which is a record for him.

The invading penguins finally retreated and there was peace in the house.

Please make sure when time leaps forward or back you replace the batteries in your anti-invisble penguin device.

You will thank me later.