Today I told Boyd that what I want for my birthday this year is for him to remove – and preferably destroy – the clock on my kitchen wall. I have lived with this merry musical blight for one year, seven months and 29 days, ever since my mother-in-law gave it to Lila for Christmas. What this video fails to convey is that the clock is roughly the size of a German shepherd. Boyd, being the sweet and lovely man that he is, insisted that we put it up to save Grandma’s feelings. A few months after it was up, I suggested that perhaps that was enough joy for Grandma. But Boyd said that we couldn’t take it down now because, after all, it belonged to Lila and she should get to decide how long it stays on the wall. Since Lila gets attached to everything, having been known to anthropomorphize Q-tips, mango pits, shampoo bottles and pens, she is of no help in this matter. She never even looks at the clock, but if I draw her attention to it and ask if we can move it, she will demur. It’s not that I am a total bitch, which I am, but really. I am all for personal expression and respect for other people’s belongings and whatnot, but I mean look at it. Yes, those are crystals sparkling and spinning along the bottom.