It is with deep regret that I need to inform you that today is a very very sad day. Not like Saturday which was a very fun day, nor like Sunday which was an OK day until the evening. But today is Monday. Not even that, at the moment it is 7am Monday morning. Which means I still have to last an entire day before it is Tuesday. Which just so happens to be the single worst day of the week.
I hate Monday morning. I think I hate it most because it is the start of a 2 day routine of wishing my life away. And to be honest…I am not getting any younger.
OK, so I realise that is a really stupid saying. “I am not getting any younger”. Of course we aren’t. Benjamin bleedin’ Button was a film. I know this because of the “quotes” attributed to him such as: “Your life is defined by its opportunities… even the ones you miss. ” and “Goodnight Daisy”. I can 100% confirm that I have never said goodnight to a plant….weed…spec of dust…Algerian woman with only one nostril named Amira. That is why you should not accept Benjamin Button as a suitable rolemodel.
We also cannot be born old and get younger. Which is good. Because I was an immensely handsome baby and the idea that I then get even better looking as life goes on…well….yeah OK, I am lying. I currently have that shaven head unshaven face yob look going on. I am as attractive as dipping your love spuds in honey and shoving them in to a bees nest.
But this post is not about where I get my kicks. Nor about the truckload of bees and pots of honey I ordered which turned up at the house yesterday and I had to explain to my wife just why they were there as I stood there, trousers around my ankles with a look of glee on my face. In my defence, she told me she was going out. Sure, I should’ve checked prior to dropping my strides, but when I saw that lorry come around the corne….you know….it is really not an integral part of this post so I shall not carry on.
So anyway. Yes. Monday. Well, actually, the rest of the week too. They can be defined as:
Sunday – Wake up with the sudden realisation that the weekend is over. Even though there is a whole day to go. Actually, some 50% of the weekend to go. But that doesn’t matter. You hate it. You make snide comments about it. In my opinion, Sunday is called God’s day because it kicks you in the balls when you are down and uses the “free will” comment when you say “Why cant you just bugger off and leave me in peace. I was happy with Saturday.” And you know, for me anyway, Sunday night is a work night. Not work work but pre-work. Ironing clothes. Only drinking several beers so the hangover is not as bad in the morning.
Monday – Wake up. Bitch to self about it being Monday. Drag sorry arse to work. Bitch to colleagues about it being Monday. Mention that it is Tuesday tomorrow to bring everyone down.
Tuesday – The single worse day of the week. Ever. In the history of days. And time. Infact I think if I was sentenced to death and they said “Your execution day is November 5th” I would probably look at the calendar and go “Can I pencil in Saturday 3rd” just so I could go on a high. And then when they said “What would you like as a last meal” I would probably order a jar of honey, some bees and some alone time.
Wednesday and Thursday – These days do not exist. They actually don’t. They are pencilled in to the calendar to pad it out a little. It is true. What did you do last Thursday? Go on…don’t think about it, just tell me. You can’t can you. Unless it was a funeral or something…in which case, I am sorry for your loss…and instead, what did you do the Thursday before? Unless…well, maybe that was the day they died. Wow, bad couple of weeks for you. Bet you wish it was Sunday now don’t you.
Friday – OMG! IT IS FRIDAY! IT IS THE WEEKEND! I AM GOING TO GET SOOOOO DRUNK AND DO STUFF. You shove some ridiculous quantity of junk food down your gullet and feel like you are going to vomit sugar cubes. And not just any sugar cubes. White sugar cubes.
Saturday – Lay in bed until some ridiculous time and lose most of the day. When you do finally get up, you sit in front of the TV scratching yourself.
And the next thing you know,it is Sunday night and you are stood by the iron thinking “I wish I was rich and didn’t have to work”. Which would also end up badly for me. I would spend my entire day eating junk. Moaning I was bored. And would probably go back to work.
In unrelated news….it is still Monday and on the news this morning on the way to work they mentioned that “British men are better hung than our French counterparts”. Makes sense I guess, it was just last week that someone said to me “You really are just a giant cock aren’t you”.
wheelturninghamsterdead.com 