What part of �weekend� don�t you understand?
November 17, 2002 ~ 3:39 a.m.
What I love most about the weekends is the chance to play the ultimate homebody.
My wife sometimes stands in wonder at my contended willingness to sleep until 1 o�clock in the afternoon and then putter about the house very slowly and with absolutely no set purpose in mind, other than seeking a sugar and caffeine fix. What she doesn�t realize is that I am just as much in awe of her. I have to drag my butt out of bed early and hop trains all week long, just as she does. Saturdays and Sundays are do-nothing days � at least when I�m not rushing around foreign cities like last weekend, that is.
Why, just this morning, I was lying happily in bed, waking up slowly by making small talk with her, chatting about our dreams and so forth. I stole a glance at the alarm clock. It was 1:50 p.m.
�Well, I suppose we�d better get ready for Jane.� (Jane is our mutual friend from the London township of Catford.)
�Oh,� I said, in between a lengthy stretch. �And what time did she say she�d come over?�
�Around two,� she answered casually, as she rose, threw off her nightgown and slipped into a skirt almost effortlessly. This left me with exactly ten minutes to wake up, brush my teeth, get dressed and pick the place up a bit. Needless to say, I went through these tasks in a bitter state of mind. I do not like to be rushed on the weekends. I drive myself crazy with this routine five days in a row. I welcome the two-day break from the madness.
Then the wife asked me, just tonight, would I attend �Discover Dogs� (a dog show) with her tomorrow at 2 p.m.?
What? Are you kidding me, dearest? Tomorrow is Sunday. Come two o�clock in the afternoon, I�ll be pulling my best Nilsson Schmilsson act, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, wild-eyed, hands thrust into the pockets of my bathrobe, while waiting for the water for my first cup of coffee of the day to boil.
For Chrissakes, I owe it to myself to treat the weekend like a diamond to be coveted, polished and cherished. It is part of every nightdragon�s contract. Thou shalt not waste thy weekend on any out-of-doors activity. And this edict never gets challenged so long as the temperature remains below 65 degrees.
On a Sunday, I will put on my jeans and step outside for a bottle of wine from the local convenience shop only.
� M.E.M.
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Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
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