When little things get under my skin, I bitch until the cows come home. When big things bother me, I stay silent until I reach a breaking point, and then I explode.

That time is at hand.


My grandfather bought this clock many years ago. Its chime echoes throughout the house with an air of familiarity. It wouldn't seem right to be in this house and not hear this clock chime. There are even two tiny mouse figurines, Tick and Tock, who rest in the depths of the belly of the clock, barely missed by the swinging pendulums. This clock not only has character, but a family history.

Despite the physical beauty and family ties, I hate this clock with a burning passion.

And why? Oh, I didn't mention that it chimes every fifteen minutes.

Did you read that correctly? It chimes every fifteen minutes. It chimes on the hour, fifteen after the hour, on the half hour, and fifteen to. Yes. Every time I forget about the clock's existence, the surprisingly loud dong reminds me that yes, there's a big obnoxious clock in the corner.

It's especially bad when you're watching a movie. Grandma and I were watching James Bond the other night (yes, my grandma watches James Bond movies with me) and James was about to pop a cap in the bad guy and the effing clock chimed, scaring the pants off of me. And it was ten o'clock, so the clock chimed ten whole times, causing me to miss important plot points, and by that time, the movie was ruined anyway. Thanks, Clock.

Oh yeah, and there's no night sensor, so if I'm up at midnight, it'll chime -- yep, twelve obnoxious times. It wakes me up in the middle of the night sometimes. It scares the crap out of me if I get up for a glass of water, and once my heart rate returns to normal, then it's fifteen minutes later and the fricken clock chimes again.

I turned it off once. It was glorious. It ticked in the corner, silent and beautiful. I could admire the clock once again for what it was: a gorgeous piece of timekeeping machinery, elegant and sleek. And then my aunt came. And I came out of my room in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and it chimed and I nearly lost control of all of my bodily functions. I was on a heap on my knees in the middle of the hallway, clutching my heart. And guess what? My aunt is gone, and now I don't remember how to turn off the chiming.

A clock shouldn't bring out such strong, hateful feelings, especially such a beautiful clock as this.

Maybe Grandpa should have just gotten a watch.