Friday Eve

 

Having just gotten the schedule for the March Zoom rehearsals for a project with the Drama League I couldn’t help but notice that it identifies the days by their numerical standing in the month with no mention of their position in the week.

The fourth, eleventh, eighteenth and twenty-fifth of the lamb eating the lion month are what used to be called “Thurs” days. Of course, no one who has progressed past believing in Santa Claus, equal opportunity and the Easter Bunny still believes in Thursdays. The twenty four hour period between Hump and Thank God (even if you are an atheist) had been a lingering conceit of traditionalists and people who think that novels and films reflect reality anymore than reality TV does. 

You don’t have to make your way in this world for long or even be a student for more than a grade or two to know that Mondays can be very blue. And Tuesdays are just too- I would even say way too- but what are you going to do? Saturdays belong to your god and Sundays to mine? 

So is it a camel or dromedary after that too too Tuesday? Or in less zoological terms are there one hump or two mid week? (In contradiction to the Camel cigarette pack it is dromedaries who are singularly humped) 

Mad Dame Phylis Morris, one of the country’s leading dayologists, pointed out that despite an almost universal understanding throughout history that Thursdays are bullshit it like every other insane conspiracy theory has its defenders. 

“I don’t care if some great power human or divine made weeks a hundred days long there still wouldn’t be a place for Thursdays. Go through your week. Collect evidence of every time you open your eyes. You’re not going to come up with even a shadow of a Thursday. The evidence just isn’t there and never was.”

Both political parties in the United States retreat immediately from any mention of a gap between Hump and Friday. “Getting over the hump gets you over the Thursday delusion or so it is wished,” said He Who

Died a Wednesday. “Since both parties have now devolved to the point of contradicting each other over everything from the Sun rising in the east and setting in the pockets of the one per cent both fear entanglements in meaningless arguments  that will take up what little time they have for the meaningless arguments they suspect get them elected.”

Don Arrup

Satire1