I feel sorry for Monday.
Don't you?
If not for the tragedy of the work-week, Monday could be a day as good as any other. Instead Monday is the black sheep, the ugly duckling of its six brothers and sisters, the unwanted redhaired stepchild we do our best to ignore. Friday and Saturday are the shining favorites, the football hero and prom queen, while Sunday is the spoiled goody-goody of the family, all A+ grades and go-to-church clothes.
But Monday is ragged and homely, smelling of body-odor and the booze Saturday spilt on him, searching clumsily for a cup of coffee to help him survive till Tuesday can take over.
It's unfair!
Monday wishes he were born last, so he could be the delinquent, cherished, spoiled son we pray comes quickly and safely to us at the week's end.