Whoever decided to make the weekend only two days needs to be tarred and feathered. Seriously.
Weekends are great. The best thing since sliced bread. Well actually, since I’m on a healthy eating kick right now, I’ll say that weekends are the best thing since steamed cauliflower. That really doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it? Y’all know what I mean though.
I’m sitting here enjoying a big ass glass of moscato, watching a rerun of a Kevin Hart stand-up show, eating halfway-stale corn chips (I had a crazy craving for something sweet but like I said, I’m on a healthy eating kick, so rather than eat that pint of icecream that my husband thought he was hiding from me by putting it in the bottom of the freezer under the peas but I found it anyway, I’m eating these stale corn chips. Don’t judge me), and stretched out on the couch with pillows in the perfect positions for back and neck support, and my favorite warm and fluffy couch blanket covering my legs. My husband and child are asleep so I have this blissful relaxed time all to myself. But then, an errant, intrusive, and very rude thought popped in my mind…”tomorrow is Monday”.
That’s all it took to ruin my whole vibe. Now I’m low-key sinking into the depths of despair thinking that it all goes away tomorrow. Sighhhhhhhh.
I am going to start a campaign to get an official 3-day weekend approved by whomever approves such things. What should the name of the 3rd day be? I’m partial to Don’tBotherMeOnMy3rdDayOffOrSufferMyWrathDay.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Don’tBotherMeOnMy3rdDayOffOrSufferMyWrathDay.
Doesn’t that have such a nice ring to it?