Seven of my friends
An important difference between primitive and civilized folk is that the latter look upon the days of the week as individuals. If you and I had not grown up in a world of calendars and clocks, schedules and appointments, our outlook would be the same as those beings who are close to nature. It would then seem to us that there was only onem day -- the day of our life -- and that it was punctuated numberless times by spasms of bright and dark.
For us who are conditioned to meet all the days in certain guises and definite contexts, there is a tendency to invest them with human traits.We carry this anthropomorphism so far that we are quite likely to harbor feelings for about a day as though it were a person.
Most of the time I simply nod my head at Tuesday, and continue on my way. I respect her, of course -- after all, she elects a president once every four years -- but our temperaments are very different. The problem seems to be that Tuesday and I never sit down together and really talk. I think it's always that way when acquaintances remain aloof.
Saturday and I, on the other hand, have always enjoyed the most cordial relations. Insensibly I have progressed from tadhood to adolescence to young manhood to not-so-young manhood . . . and I can count upon the fingers of one hand all the times Saturday has not paced the floor at the end of my bed, waiting for me to open my eyes to her everfresh beauty.Sometimes, quite overcome by impatience, in a sudden excess of childlike exuberance, Saturday will grab at the covers, or tickle the bottom of my foot: all to hurry me awake, so that she and I can go exploring together.
Indeed Saturday hath many charms: and not the least of these is that she yields with so much grace to Sunday.
Ah, Sunday. Now there is a lady whose elan has been celebrated in all the nations down through the ages. And rightly so: for she trips over the earth in her classic role of Lady Bountiful, with ample gifts of rest and camaraderie, recreation and reverent meditation to rich man and peasant, soldier and poet, queen in her splendor and girl-next-door. I adore Sunday.
She speaks to mem most always in a quiet, restrained voice. She speaks of English sparrows and ragged clouds, loved ones who reach across a table and clasp my hand and gaze at me with adoring eyes. Sunday always has a story for a poet, and hot desert winds or spatters of rain, and a little patch of grass that only I seem to know about, where one may sit quietly and read a book, or write a poem, or think, or simply chat placidly with gracious Sunday.
One doesn't wish, of course, to be partial. But I harbor a warmer feeling for Sunday than I do for Wednesday, poor ashen girl. Even she has her votaries, though. I know a lawyer who contends that she is the creme de la cremem and each Wednesday afternoon he celebrates her on the golf course.
Wednesday up till now has visited me 2,288 times, and I certainly don't mean to suggest that her welcome is wearing thin. I can say with total sincerity that I hope she comes 2,288 times again, and I'll give her a tea every time. But, sadly, she possesses not the same radiance for me that she holds for the lawyer.
. . . But Monday. There, my friend, is a different story. She is maligned by philosophers, often rued by businessmen, slandered by poets (who certainly ought to know better), libeled by songwriters and reviled by schoolchildren who have not learned their lessons.
But into my life she comes blithely, trippingly. She is apt to be irreverent in a jaunty sort of way, and always she comes like a breath of April . . . even when the snowdrifts would intimidate giraffes.
Each time she comes (I have noted with meticulous care) she brings good things. Packets of mail, and opportunities to test my strength, and to hone my wits and get along with people, and most of all to say love.m Monday brings a quantity of "Hi's!" that are withheld by austere Sunday.
Perhaps you too liken the days to people. If this is true, I hope they are good people in your estimation . . . even Wednesday and Friday. And I hope (like me) you have a special feeling for Monday, let others construe her as they will.