Sorry Josh, but I'm death to all watches. Last one I wore, I broke the strap within 24 hours. I don't do it on purpose, but I can't help fiddling with the damn things. And Ailz is worse. She can't wear one at all. Her subtle aura sends their delicate little innards doolally.
But, then, I've never really understood why a watch would be considered a desirable item of personal jewellery. A diamond is forever, but a watch's chief business is to remind you that you're not. It's a symbol of servitude. A slave bracelet. Hurry, hurry, hurry, rush, rush, rush; Get a move on and get things done before you arrive at the edge of Time and drop off.
Clocks are another matter; they're all right, they know their place; they don't cling to you like a watch does. Talking about dropping off, we've got a pendulum clock in the back room that wants to commit suicide. It's very lightweight and its rocking motion causes it to skitter forward towards the edge of its shelf. Every morning I have to push it back into place. That's my kind of timepiece- one I can pity and patronize. There, there, you poor little neurotic thing; life's not so bad really.