~ Written by Jim Lloyd ~
Let’s talk about Mondays for a moment, shall we? Monday’s have a fairly bad reputation. Particularly Monday mornings. It’s like, you have to get out of bed. Then somehow, with your eyes still mostly closed, find your way to the kitchen, fumble around until you’ve discovered the coffee maker, coffee, and filters, separate one filter from the tightly packed stack (a communist plot designed to drive most capitalists to the brink), measure out the correct amount of the right Folger’s flavor (ever notice there ain’t just coffee anymore?), pour in the correct amount of filtered water (tap water, that stuff would kill a wart hog), and lean in a semi-conscious state against the counter until you hear that blessed noise which signals the end of the brewing process.
Then one teaspoon sweetener (whatever happened to sugar? For the amount we use daily, would it kill us?) pours in the exalted brew, and adds half-n-half. (Don’t even start with me about powdered whitener.)
Why can’t Monday start without coffee? I think it’s a learned action. Somewhere between puberty and voting age, we discover coffee. It invariably becomes the necessity to become conscious Monday mornings. OK. So now we’ve had our first sips of coffee.
Now we head to the shower. Are we that filthy? I must admit that, in a distinct contest of detection of actual body oder, I could probably get by with a lack of a Monday morning shower (if necessary). Historically, we wash daily. That’s only been happening in the last hundred years or so. Queen Elizabeth I bragged that she bathed yearly whether she needed it or not! I mean, we have deodorant, don’t we? So all this coffee and showering stuff is just learned actions, right?
Now we get to the serious stuff, wardrobe. I’ve been self employed my entire adult life. My boss does not have distinct tastes as far as wardrobe. He just does not care if there’s a stain somewhere. The slob. This whole lack of concern has limited my personal goals as far as wardrobe is concerned. Cuffs this year? Who knows. Work shirts and jeans? Why not! I feel my fashion goals have been limited in great measure by this person’s utter lack of fashion sense!
So now we’re still nursing a large mug of room temperature Folger’s Chocolate Truffle flavored something, there’s a stain from two nights ago’s meal at Waterway Restaurant on my shirt, and I’m just not as fresh as I could be. Now what do I want to eat? Well, it’s Monday morning. Pop a bagel in the toaster and hope for peanut butter and jelly in the cupboards? See what’s in the freezer? Get something at Dunkin’ Donuts? Geese. It’s Monday. I can do anything I want. Diets don’t rule ‘til Tuesday. I’ve got money left over from the weekend (it rained and the garage sales were mostly closed.) There was one orange left way down in the bottom drawer of the fridge (a navel, thick skinned, easily pealed, sweet as sugar) so I’ll blow it at lunch. Mondays. They’re really not bad. I’ll walk my three miles by Tuesday or Wednesday. Several people this week have said that I look good for my age. I feel good.
All these folks that complain about Mondays must not be living their lives correctly. Mondays are not all that bad. I like Mondays.