Smunday, Smunday, so good to me
Kevin's doing a Ruddy good job - what with saying 'Sorry', focussing on water, signing the Kyoto treaty, shooting Milky Bar shares through the roof and all that, but I want him to grant us an eight day week.
It'd be easy. You know, an eighth day, called ‘Smunday’ that could be squeezed in between Sunday and Monday. A day all to ourselves without any work, chores or commitments.
Our Lord may have rested on Sundays, but by Sunday night, I know that I feel completely exhausted from the weekend’s exertions, resentful that the only time I had to myself was in the toilet and dreading the start of a full-time working week the following day.
Our Lord may have rested on Sundays, but by Sunday night, I know that I feel completely exhausted from the weekend’s exertions, resentful that the only time I had to myself was in the toilet and dreading the start of a full-time working week the following day.
What happened to finding time to relax on weekends? Instead, mine is filled with washing (six loads a week, yet there’s only three of us), ironing (despite trying my damnedest to buy non-iron clothing), play dates for my daughter (who, at eight, can’t drive herself there or be left alone and has a better social life than Love Chunks or I do), dinner parties, coffee catch ups, tennis lessons, karate classes, guitar lessons, grocery shopping, cooking double-up meals to freeze one for later, weeding, returning friendly phone calls, clearing up the clutter that appeared in the house during the week and maybe, just maybe, being able to hog the TV long enough to watch a movie instead of a Crows' game or Shrek on one occasion.
Then on Monday, the working week has started in earnest. Half of the office has called in sick and the other half is in slow, ‘I’m depressed, tired and don’t want to be here’ mode which makes the workload a lot greater. The in-tray is full of the awkward stuff you didn’t want to do in your ‘I’m so glad it’s the weekend’ mode on Friday afternoon and you have a diary full of meetings, projects, staff issues and to-do lists. The phones start to ring and it’s rare to get a call from someone in your working hours who wants to tell you something nice, isn’t it?
Smunday is therefore a necessity to give us all back our day of rest – not only from our work life and our domestic life, but also from each other. The introduction of Smunday will undoubtedly break all laws of time, physics and common sense because the entire world will be on ‘pause’ mode. Everyone around me - and you - will be frozen in whatever mode they were in on a Sunday afternoon.
Smunday will be a day where we will be allowed to do whatever we feel like on our own. It gives a real meaning to old phrase ‘do it in your own time.’
Just imagine it – sleeping in without being woken up at 6am by your child who is ready to take on the world or reminding that you promised to make muffins (yes, but not at 6.07am!); being able to eat what you want (yes, there’s no fat content in Smunday foods); wandering into the shops for a leisurely browse minus the frustrations of entertaining a whiny hanger-on, finding a car park or having to rush in and rush out before the lunch guests arrive. Staying in the shops and being able to look through everything without having to say “It’s OK, I’m just looking thanks.” Being able to wash the dog, who, being motionless, is cooperative, willing to stay in the bath and not shake itself all over you.
Being able to read the paper. In one go. With a hot coffee. And no phone calls, interruptions or pleas to help put together the ello shopapopolis set. Having the TV and DVD player to yourself, so that you can watch Jude Law, John Cusack, Keanu Reeves, Brad Pitt, Colin Firth and Hugh Grant without sarcastic comments from your husband.
That would be enough for the first few Smundays, but then I suspect that I’d be yearning to take it a few mischievous steps further. Slipping into the designer boutiques that always intimidated me to try on ridiculously expensive outfits that I’d never have the reason to wear anywhere. Popping into Haighs to sample every flavour of chocolate truffle behind the glass cabinets. Hanging a yo-yo from Colonel Light’s finger. Removing all skinny jeans above a size 8 from clothing racks to spare us the agony of squeezing into unrealistic and unflattering clothing dictated by Kate Moss-arexic fashion nazis.
Smunday could be a day to finally carry out some petty revenges. Slipping a couple of prawns into your boss's curtain rails or simply being able to stand in front of your enemy and really let ‘em have it – verbally I mean. Having a good shout at that person for whom you can always think of witty retorts – three hours later. Or – and this would take a bit of psyching up because of the intimate touching involved – unzipping your boss’ fly whilst they're in freeze mode at their local café.... such catharsis on offer....
Then on Monday, the working week has started in earnest. Half of the office has called in sick and the other half is in slow, ‘I’m depressed, tired and don’t want to be here’ mode which makes the workload a lot greater. The in-tray is full of the awkward stuff you didn’t want to do in your ‘I’m so glad it’s the weekend’ mode on Friday afternoon and you have a diary full of meetings, projects, staff issues and to-do lists. The phones start to ring and it’s rare to get a call from someone in your working hours who wants to tell you something nice, isn’t it?
Smunday is therefore a necessity to give us all back our day of rest – not only from our work life and our domestic life, but also from each other. The introduction of Smunday will undoubtedly break all laws of time, physics and common sense because the entire world will be on ‘pause’ mode. Everyone around me - and you - will be frozen in whatever mode they were in on a Sunday afternoon.
Smunday will be a day where we will be allowed to do whatever we feel like on our own. It gives a real meaning to old phrase ‘do it in your own time.’
Just imagine it – sleeping in without being woken up at 6am by your child who is ready to take on the world or reminding that you promised to make muffins (yes, but not at 6.07am!); being able to eat what you want (yes, there’s no fat content in Smunday foods); wandering into the shops for a leisurely browse minus the frustrations of entertaining a whiny hanger-on, finding a car park or having to rush in and rush out before the lunch guests arrive. Staying in the shops and being able to look through everything without having to say “It’s OK, I’m just looking thanks.” Being able to wash the dog, who, being motionless, is cooperative, willing to stay in the bath and not shake itself all over you.
Being able to read the paper. In one go. With a hot coffee. And no phone calls, interruptions or pleas to help put together the ello shopapopolis set. Having the TV and DVD player to yourself, so that you can watch Jude Law, John Cusack, Keanu Reeves, Brad Pitt, Colin Firth and Hugh Grant without sarcastic comments from your husband.
That would be enough for the first few Smundays, but then I suspect that I’d be yearning to take it a few mischievous steps further. Slipping into the designer boutiques that always intimidated me to try on ridiculously expensive outfits that I’d never have the reason to wear anywhere. Popping into Haighs to sample every flavour of chocolate truffle behind the glass cabinets. Hanging a yo-yo from Colonel Light’s finger. Removing all skinny jeans above a size 8 from clothing racks to spare us the agony of squeezing into unrealistic and unflattering clothing dictated by Kate Moss-arexic fashion nazis.
Smunday could be a day to finally carry out some petty revenges. Slipping a couple of prawns into your boss's curtain rails or simply being able to stand in front of your enemy and really let ‘em have it – verbally I mean. Having a good shout at that person for whom you can always think of witty retorts – three hours later. Or – and this would take a bit of psyching up because of the intimate touching involved – unzipping your boss’ fly whilst they're in freeze mode at their local café.... such catharsis on offer....
By Monday, we would all be rested and fulfilled and the world would truly be a better place. Think about it, Kevin. Seriously.
7 comments:
Zen ze Germans vould schtart verking on Smundays und take us all to ze cleaners vich vould get Kevin07 blamed for everytzing and woted out again next election.
Smundays would become an extra verk day and forever be referred to as Schmundays in honour of our German superiors.
ps. Word Verification? cokme. Best yet.
Kath for the 20/20 summit I say!! I'd love a Smunday, wouldn't take me so many weeks to get through Entourage, as the children would be frozen some where away from my TV viewing : - )
Smundays !! Brilliant..Somehow though I'd find myself trying to do too much on Smundays that I'd need a Stuesday and a Swednesday!!! LOL
How much effort does Mr Chunks put into the household upkeep? I can't help wondering if it's not just a matter of re-adjusting the division of work.
(and if Smunday came to be, would Paul and Ringo have to re-record one of their hits to become "Nine Days A Week"?)
cheers
BS
Start a petition please, I'll sign.
Oh yeah! I'm with you sister! Actually I gave up ironing and do it as I go now. Saturday's are packed with chores and Sunday's usually grocery shopping. What an interesting life I lead! NOT.
No no no Franzy - the day is *entirely up to you* as to how you spend it. Sure, they may be some Germans who will choose to work on Smunday but not necessarily the rest of us.
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