Midweek has come and gone. Now we begin the downhill slide into the weekend.
Except that Thursdays and Fridays seem to be the busiest days of the week for some reason. You’d think people would be taking their foot off the accelerator a little bit, but that’s not how it seems to work.
Nobody eases into the weekend any more.
They go full bore and then drive off the edge of Friday like a car going over a cliff.
That’s not how we approached weekends when I was younger.
We approached them like a leisure-suit wearing, wide-belted, platform-shoe wearing, tequila-sunrise swilling, head-bobbing, open-shirted loser about to put the moves on the gorgeous 10 at the end of the bar who was way out of our league.
You don’t just rush up to her like a rube and risk spilling your drink all over her. There’s a certain amout of what’s-your-sign-ing and come-here-often-ing that must be performed. There is ritual. There is tradition. There is protocol.
Weekends like to be courted and wooed. They like you to buy them a drink.
So, let’s just slow down there a little bit, Buckaroo.
There’s still plenty of time to get your leisure suit Martinized..