Benjamin Franklin was startled awake by a loud banging on the front door of his Parisian apartment. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his gout ridden foot lazily, feeling on his nightstand for his watch.
He picked it up but couldn’t see the time due to the darkness of the room.
“Who would be bothering me at this hour?” he mumbled, shuffling over to the windows.
He adjusted the shutters and blinding light entered his bedroom. He shielded his eyes until they grew accustomed to the sunshine, then checked his watch again.
It was six o’clock in the morning. He had only been asleep for just over two hours.
He pulled on his robe and grumpily started downstairs, where the knocking continued.
“I hate sunshine at 6 o’clock in the morning and the beggars it brings to my doors.”
He swung open the door forcefully and was surprised to see a young Parisian woman standing on his stoop. She was angry, but she was beautiful. She was also balancing a baby boy on her hip and waving a parchment in his face.
“I know it was you,” she accused.
“Madame, I know not of what you speak.”
“I read your Economical Project in the paper yesterday morning. I am not happy with it, Monsieur.”
“It was merely a farcical attempt to help your country’s economical state. Forgive me, I must return to bed.”
“I’m warning you,” the woman said before he could squeeze back inside.
“I’m telling you now that all this talk of candle taxes and bells ringing to announce the rising of the sun will someday cause more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Merci beaucoup, madame,” Franklin tried to shoo her away.
“Right now it sounds fine and dandy, and there will be supporters, but I’m telling you that one day, hundreds of years in the future, there will be mother’s of babes who will curse your name for suggesting changing the time around by an hour. We mother’s live off of schedules for our babies and when the fall comes and they have to turn their clocks back, and their babies wake up at four in the morning, and don’t nap, and they have to fight them to stay up until their regular bedtime, and it becomes the longest day of the year for them. You will wish you never came up with this idea.”
“Once again, Merci, Madam, I wish you a good day.”
She merely scowled, turned, and walked away.
Franklin did think on her words for a moment before returning to his once again darkened room, but there was nothing he could do now. It was too late. And the woman was crazy, right?