A young professional’s take on the trials and tribulations of everyday life in New York City.

By Nina Pajak

It’s Leap Day.

I don’t get it.

The whole concept of a day that only exists once every four years just gives me the heebie jeebies. Sort of like Daylight Saving Time. Just . . . don’t even get me started on Daylight Saving Time. When the collective They make changes to major things like time and days and all that, I go all wonky. I try to understand it, and I’m no scientist, but I keep getting tripped up on how the lunar tides come into play. Damn those lunar tides.

More: NYC’s 4 Best Leap Year Freebies & Specials

Anyway, I’ve always felt that February 29th should be a gimme day. A freebie. A mulligan. It doesn’t count.

It’s just this mystical, abstract, conceptual day that floats around and once every four years comes crashing into the sphere of reality and then blip! disappears again. I mean, it’s almost like time travel, all of us spending an entire 24-hour period that sort of doesn’t exist. Like how a comet really happened millions and billions and trillions of years ago, even though we think we’re seeing it happen life from our rooftops. I mean, what? That’s just. Bah. Too much for this English major to comprehend.

More: NYC’s 5 Best Leap Year Celebrations & Bar Specials

So given all that nonsense, I’d like to declare Leap Day to be a lost day, one on which up is down and left is right and nothing happens the way it should. And people shouldn’t be held responsible for the things that happen on Leap Day, either. What happens on Leap Day stays on Leap Day, and you can deal with the ramifications in four years. People could be free to try anything, like telling off your boss in a way you only do in your daydreams, dying your hair Katy Perry blue, skydiving, snorkling in the East River, punching someone at Fairway, arriving to work on time without any issues with the subway, petting a raccoon, buying a $70,000 necklace, climbing a statue dressed in Superman pajamas, or spending the day at the Olive Garden elbow-deep in a never-ending pasta bowl. Imagine the possibilities! Imagine the pastabilities!

In my mind, the whole scene very closely resembles Pee Wee’s Playhouse on Christmas, which is also Jambi’s birthday, plus they’re hosting Puppetland’s first gay wedding/ice cream social. Mostly, I suppose this would wind up looking a lot like St. Patty’s Day does in Murray Hill. But that’s cool. Whatever goes.


Dear Readers: While I am rarely at a loss for words, I’m always grateful for column ideas. Please feel free to e-mail me your suggestions and follow me on Twitter.

Nina Pajak is a writer and publishing professional living with her husband on the Upper West Side.

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