typical friday night
It’s Friday night. I’m wearing sweat pants. Tonight’s curry is on the stove. I have just turned on the oven to bake bread. I’m doing the laundry. This is the typical Friday night you don’t want people to know that you have.
Tomorrow is Saturday and the day after is Sunday and what characterises those two days is the fact that I won’t have to get up early in the morning and go to work. Plans for the next two days are scarce. I have got a handful (or 20) of thank you notes to write so I’m thinking that come Sunday I will have baked a dozen apple pies and made some jars of jam in order to not have to dig in to those notes.
While I wait for J to return from football and take a shower, I will sit myself in our comfy chair and look through the news paper and forget that I just checked my work email (why?) and saw that the first hour of Monday morning is already reserved for a text someone else should have written. Forget that while I found three shirts for J today, I found nothing but tights for myself. Forget that the dishes are piled rather high in the sink. Forget. Forget. Forget.
Happy Friday night whatever you’re doing.