That’s the thing I hate about week-ends. A three day weekend has drawn to a close and before I know it, it will be time to get up and go back to work. This week, Monday will be on Tuesday and Friday won’t get here until, well Friday!
It all started so wonderfully. It was Friday afternoon and the clock was ticking down. We were already starting to line up like the Kentucky Derby. I don’t know about where you work but here it’s not a good idea to get between the door and the other employees about quitting time. When the clock hit four-thirty, the parking lot looked like a scene from the ‘Running of the Bulls’ !
All the way home, I’m strategically planning my week- end itinerary of ‘what-ever-i-wanna-do’ . The glorious three days of leisure was about to commence. I was so giddy with anticipation that before I knew it, Friday night was gone. No need to panic, I still had Saturday, Sunday, and Monday to go!
Saturday morning, 6:30 A.M. Apparently nobody told the dog I had the day off. I awaken to find a nose, cold and wet, hovering over my head. It’s Cletus; six-foot tall, 120 pounds of Great Dane and he wants to play. Pulling the covers over my head fails to convince him of my desperate need to sleep in. So I put him outside. A few minutes later some sadistic soul lets him back in and he makes for my bed with all the finesse of a linebacker in a ballet recital. I hear him coming and the only thing I can do is to curl up in the fetal position and brace for impact.
Wham! He lands on me like a small jumbo jet. I can feel an over-sized paw on my temple and suddenly I think I know the last thing a cockroach feels when he gets stepped on.
Ok, Ok! I’m up!
Later that day I’m only halfway through my ‘honey-do’ chores and I find him sprawled out on the couch …sleeping. That’s so not fair! I suppose I should have cleared my itinerary through my wife before indulging in the delusion that I was the head of the house.
And before I know it, Saturday is just about gone with Sunday in the on-deck circle. The way I see it, Sunday doesn’t even count for a day off. I get a few moments of intense non-activity between the morning and evening services and suddenly Sunday is slipping away from my grasp.
And now it’s Monday morning. The inevitability of my impending return to work has begun to descend upon me like a cloud of gloom, much like the last day of summer. Monday doesn’t fare any better and by nightfall I have resigned myself to my fate.
It’s a glum scene the next morning, reminiscent of the first day of school. We’re a dreary bunch of serfs returning to the drudgery we call work. Not even the prospect of a jelly dough-nut can cheer me up. And in the back of my mind, I can see Cletus sprawled out across the couch …sleeping while I’m back at work.
And that’s what I hate about weekends!