You know, reading the word Monday just now made me think of several things. First of all, if it was French, it would be Lundi. But it’s not, it’s American. But if the first 1/2 of the American word were based on French, then Mon would mean “my” and then day would just be day. And then today would be my day. Which it is clearly not since here I am, living it up at work.
Also, when I studied the word Monday as one would study art, I thought, “Monday doesn’t look foreboding and sad and like a rude buzz kill in the midst of one fine party.” Instead Monday looks sweet yet succinct. If you roll the word around on your tongue, it seems soft and rounded, not harsh and painful. Monnnnnnnday. Mmmmmmmmmmmmooonnnnnnnnnnnnnnndaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy. It’s actually quite a pleasure to say. mmmmmmmmmmmmm. oooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnn. daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay. Good stuff.
But here is the truth about Monday. She is all dressed up, looking cute on paper. The reality? She zaps you of any good time you might be having and kicks your butt when the alarm goes off at 5:30 am.
Friday, alternately, makes me think of fried foods. Friday should be a day where everything (cats, too) should be dumped into a vat of oil and fried like no one’s business. Yet Mardi Gras (fat Tuesday)–the day where you fry everything and eat crap is–as the name suggests–typically celebrated on a Tuesday. Tuesday is a day that really sounds rough. If you are going to receive a severe beating, migraine, bad news, etc–that should occur on a Tuesday. Tooooz day. Tooooooozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz daaaaaaaay. It’s a day that looks short but drags on forever. And Wednesday. People should get married on Wednesdays. First because “Wed” is in the word. Second because it’s a long long word (well, by day of the week standards). Marriage should also be long. And Wednesday is a day that makes you wonder if there is ever any end to the week. I think people who have been married for a long time wonder if there is ever any end to the monotony of marriage. Also, if your marriage follows Tuesday, the day of badness, then Wednesday is BOUND to be the happiest day of your life. Or at least of your week so far.
Thursday. Thuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrzzzzzzzzzday. Sounds drunk. All good weekends begin on Thursday and end with the awful, sock in the mouth Monday morning–further prooving that Monday sounds much nicer than it really is. Thursday sounsd like Slursday. Which is what you do when drinking too much, but having a good time.
Saturday. No complaints on that day. On Saturday, if you’re lucky, you can say you sat around. Sat-your-day. Or at least had the option to do that. Perhaps you Sat-your-day in a bar. Or maybe you Sat-your-day at a college football game. Who knows. Who cares? It’s your day! rah!
Sunday. Sonday. This is the day typically reserved for the Son of God. And God. It is also a day that reminds you that while you’re in church, at a family function or sleeping in–you are probably missing the sun. Unless you are at a football game or something fun. Sunday. The only thing that could ruin a Sunday is Monday. How appropriate. You have God’s day. Then your day (Monday–if you follow my half English/half French translation.) And that brings me to Monday. Which is where I am.
Welcome to Monday.
Friday I went to Lincoln Park with Frank, Stacie D and Kate A. Good times. Then Saturday I had lunch with Jennie W and then dinner with Laura P. And Sunday we went to church, lunch with Frank’s parents and then we slept for a very long time.
Rah. Is it time for a nap yet??
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Frank's Beans 