An Appreciation: Monday Mornings
(This is hopefully the first of an open-ended series of essays extolling the virtues and advantages of various unpopular subjects.)
MONDAY MORNINGS
Ah, Monday mornings, how do I love thee? Don't expect me to count the ways, because it's only 4:40AM and my brain is not awake, yet my body moves through the darkness of my house. I stumble past my cat, Meredith, who even now has chosen this moment of the day to become a gray blur, racing up and down the stairs from some unknown enemy or to some unknown sanctuary. Then I step around her stepbrother, Stephen J., a domestic shorthair resembling a miniature black puma, who is rubbing in front, in back and in between my legs. Somehow my senses do not betray me as I make it to the bottom of the steps without doing a cartwheel or breaking my neck.
Ah, Monday mornings, the start of another workweek. Another chance to do something good and noble in the world, although at this moment my noblest task is to open a can of cat food while keeping the puma at bay. He insists on jumping up on the counter before I can spoon the meat into a bowl. I succeed and put the bowl on the floor, when I see his little sister. She is ready to start her Monday morning. She sits on the end table and stares at me as if to say, "Where are my treats? Why isn't the sunporch open yet? You've been up five minutes already and you can't get these things done?"
Ah, Monday mornings, while I praise you, I know there are those who condemn you as the invention of the devil, a time to be cursed and to be hated. One of these people is AKA my wife, Anne Marie. Oh, Monday mornings, I have tried to convince her that you are no worse or no better than the other days, but she won't listen. She prefers to gripe, groan, and grunt about the evil that is about to befall her: the beginning of a new workday. I know deep in my heart that someday I will make her see the error of her ways, and that she will one day (preferably a Monday) greet your arrival with all the joy and enthusiasm which she reserves for a box of chocolates. Until then, I must keep my feelings for you to myself. For now, adieu!
(Next Appreciation: Our Friend, The Income Tax)
MONDAY MORNINGS
Ah, Monday mornings, how do I love thee? Don't expect me to count the ways, because it's only 4:40AM and my brain is not awake, yet my body moves through the darkness of my house. I stumble past my cat, Meredith, who even now has chosen this moment of the day to become a gray blur, racing up and down the stairs from some unknown enemy or to some unknown sanctuary. Then I step around her stepbrother, Stephen J., a domestic shorthair resembling a miniature black puma, who is rubbing in front, in back and in between my legs. Somehow my senses do not betray me as I make it to the bottom of the steps without doing a cartwheel or breaking my neck.
Ah, Monday mornings, the start of another workweek. Another chance to do something good and noble in the world, although at this moment my noblest task is to open a can of cat food while keeping the puma at bay. He insists on jumping up on the counter before I can spoon the meat into a bowl. I succeed and put the bowl on the floor, when I see his little sister. She is ready to start her Monday morning. She sits on the end table and stares at me as if to say, "Where are my treats? Why isn't the sunporch open yet? You've been up five minutes already and you can't get these things done?"
Ah, Monday mornings, while I praise you, I know there are those who condemn you as the invention of the devil, a time to be cursed and to be hated. One of these people is AKA my wife, Anne Marie. Oh, Monday mornings, I have tried to convince her that you are no worse or no better than the other days, but she won't listen. She prefers to gripe, groan, and grunt about the evil that is about to befall her: the beginning of a new workday. I know deep in my heart that someday I will make her see the error of her ways, and that she will one day (preferably a Monday) greet your arrival with all the joy and enthusiasm which she reserves for a box of chocolates. Until then, I must keep my feelings for you to myself. For now, adieu!
(Next Appreciation: Our Friend, The Income Tax)
posted by todd gunther | 7:26 PM
1 Comments:
M-O-N
D-A-Y
S-U-C-K-S
(sung to the tune of "Mickey Mouse")
AKA
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