Yes. Thursday's here. Of course, it makes me wonder; does anything really ever happen on a Thursday? To me, Thursday's always been a day for the kind of great collective heave that people tend to take before they set out to scream at the top of their lungs for a good, long time.
I tend to put my feet up and ferret out the minutiae of the coming weekend by checking my internal list of important things to do:
- Mow the lawn.
- Find a bar.
- Think about taking up a hobby other than drinking.
- Do laundry.
- Answer the phone.
- Talk to person on phone.
- Try not to say yes to anything.
- Somehow agree to "help" caller with miscellaneous yard work until Sunday.
I know what you're thinking. "Don't answer the phone."
Normally, that's an easy thing, and I don't blame you for suggesting it. I can actually go from Monday to Friday not answering the phone without suffering any repercussions whatsoever. However, if I don't answer the phone on a Saturday, for example, I will have to explain to the thundering horde of EMTs, police officers, local news' crews, rescue divers (leaky basement, ya know), the volunteer search party and yelping bloodhounds that I didn't, in fact, wake up dead on Saturday morning, and whoever is trying to get a hold of me is seriously overreacting.
I've not been able to find a solution to this dilemma aside from saying, I'm going to be out of town this weekend.
Of course, by using that excuse, and seeing as how I have pets, if I am actually staying home instead of going away, I have to hide under a bed or something while whoever it is who's volunteered to feed my pets while I'm out rifles through my fridge, drinks all my beer and reads my mail.