Monday, I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship
For most of my adult, salaried life I’ve distrusted Friday. You know why: they are sneaky, they are a mirage, they make you think that you’ve got your life back. But just for a speck of time.
You can tell there’s something fishy about the Fri when the company men and women putting the monies to buy your forty hours of abject servitude—if you are lucky—start inviting you to ridiculously named events: happy hour, fun Friday, bring your lizard to work day. “Oh, boy!” chortles the resident sycophant. “Do I love fun Friday!”
Most of these occurrences are a mixture of empty conversations, boring games, alcohol, cookies and—sometimes—ice cream.
Ice cream? Fucking love ice cream!
Beware, what comes next is something I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy—Saturday.
That’s it, stop smirking, you know where this is going.