All of my clocks are set on Eastern Standard Time. They are as accurate as possible because, to me, that seems to be the point of having a sensitive timepiece.

Unfortunately, my spouse - and, alas, my daughter - live in an altered time zone, one that I have discovered is inhabited by a huge percentage of our populace. In fact, the numbers are as close as the Clinton-Obama delegate count: those who live on "real time" and those who live on ... well, let's call it what it is: "fake time."

My husband and daughter survive and navigate the rooms of our lives by a series of altered clocks.

The bedroom alarm clock is eight minutes fast.

The microwave time reads five minutes ahead of reality.

The stereo boasts a four-minute head start.

"Why do you do this?" I ask them.

And I get The Look. It's the one that all clock defacers give to nondefacers (and probably how smokers look at nonsmokers who fan toxic clouds out of their way).

"Because it gives us more time!" they respond, as if they are writing the introduction to The Dummies Guide to Changing Time.

I know I shouldn't, but I do. I try to reason with them: "How does it give you more time?"

"Because, when the alarm goes off in the morning, I know that I can turn it off and I still have eight more minutes to stay in bed."

"So," I reply patiently, "why don't you set the clock for 5:22 and know that you can just stay in bed until 5:30?"

They shake their heads. They look at me with pity.

"You don't get it."

No. No, I don't. I am forced to disregard any clock in my home that is not set by a central control, like Comcast or Verizon - the only sane source of digital imaging in my home. The others haunt me like constant versions of liar's poker, chiming and clanging at odd moments of the day and night, "Ave Maria" going off at 5:10, Westminster Chimes at 3:13, some as much as 20 minutes off the mark.

Today, I went to the Aberdeen train station to pick up my daughter and I drove her car, using her gas. I had a few errands to take care of and I was running a bit late, so I was happy to pull into the small station and see no one waiting on the platform. I thought it odd when the passengers starting arriving 15 minutes after the train was to pull in - as if they had advance notice there had been a delay.

When my daughter got in the car, I asked if they had been behind schedule in Washington. "No, we were a few minutes early actually."

I looked at her clock on the dashboard, flashing red numbers. Et tu, RAV4?

"Just tell me why you set your car clock ahead. You're already dressed and in the car - so you're on your way. Why can't you be on real time when you're driving?"

"Because it gives me more time. I can stop for a coffee or a bagel."

I cannot respond to this because, well, there is no response. I can only speculate on the huge consumer market that exists untapped as yet; calendars with Tax Day marked as April 5, Labor Day as the last Monday in August, July 4 being bracketed with fireworks graphics on June 27.

April 1 would of course have to remain as it is. No one should forget the day we honor fools.

Sherry Bosley is a Harford County educator who lives in Bel Air. Her e-mail is sbosley@comcast.net.