....il sera...FRIDAY ....
I'm pretty sure that each of us has a favourite day of the week. Am I right? And yeah, it doesn't matter which continent I have lived in or frequented (OK, I am not that well travelled but... it sounds good and adds substance to my train of thought). I cannot ever recall meeting ANYONE who loves a weaky-weekday. I mean, why would you?
Monday - just the name in itself conjures up Meh, Moan, Must I, Maybe Not... just plain ol' MUNDANE to me.
Tuesday - yes, a choose-day indeed. And I choose not to like it. I choose another...
Wednesday - when's it going to be the weekend? (This one only works if you don't have to say Wed-ness-day to help you with the spelling btw)....
Thursday - a long - 'errrr' - brings this to my mind - uugggh. Your tongue pushes forward, and 'bluh...'
And then there it is...
The first and only day of the week with a bright, shining, long 'i' sound... And I for one, certainly give this day a very, very long 'aye.' I friggin' love Fridays!
I cannot help but respond to pure phonetics.
Go on, you look in the mirror and try to say Friday with a dreary, totally not into it tone. Did it work? Betchya it didn't. And come on, 'fess up. Did your eyes open wider? And was there just the slightest smudge of a reflective eyebrow raise? Or were you totally grinning like a wild eyed maniac anyway?
Friday is my day ...
It probably stems from childhood (like most things).
Fridays - the first day of the week that was a breather from school work. The first day of the week that I really recognised my mother relaxing as she went about her business in the home. The day that you could truly throw off your school uniform and ditch it for the next two days. The day that you had time to pet your pet, bash the hell out of your ridiculously undersized Casio keyboard or practise the throw and catch solo routine against the wall of the house... and then...
There was always a family ritual of fish and chips in my family home. The heat of the oven from the kitchen as the expectant plates were warmed, the large bottle of tomato sauce, the freshly brewed tea (yes, we had cups of tea with this meal; nup, never understood that) and the promise of the largest gherkins ever seen were all overshadowed by my slice of childhood heaven; a frozen chocolate dessert. And that tasty little dessert in a brown plastic pot sat on the placemat while my dad went to get the fish and chips. Yes, the desserts were paraded with some provocation on the dining room table before we even sat down. And as a child of about 7, I could not resist that dessert that melted from the outer edge inwards. I can still feel that nervous anticipation and excitement as I would casually circumnavigate the table, checking out the circular pots of chocolatey goo, teaspoon at the read secreted about my person.
I can only liken the pud to the chocolate custardy thing that you can buy at the supermarket. Awesome chocolatey-ness; liquidy, luscious and lingering on my tongue. I may just have snuck the edge of a teaspoon around the rim of EVERYONE's pot and had a little taste as it gently melted in preparation for when it was supposed to be eaten... YUM. And, I have no idea why I never got busted. AND why would you leave them all out there, tempting my little tastebuds as I simpered around the house unsupervised? I guess I had more self control and decorum then because if I was presented with the same situation now, I would probably eat all four of those desserts, back to back without an iota of guilt. With deliberately left smudges of choc on my lips. Mmmmm, I can be taken there now. Yes, baby... And for those of you who may have witnessed me sampling any warm or velvety sweet sauces, yes - I may just disappear somewhere else - mind and body - And as the sugar hit coats my tongue and slides sensuously down my throat, I know that it touches me all the way to my toes. Mmmmm.
Chocolate anyone?
Post Script: Sigh - And I'm back.
It probably stems from childhood (like most things).
Fridays - the first day of the week that was a breather from school work. The first day of the week that I really recognised my mother relaxing as she went about her business in the home. The day that you could truly throw off your school uniform and ditch it for the next two days. The day that you had time to pet your pet, bash the hell out of your ridiculously undersized Casio keyboard or practise the throw and catch solo routine against the wall of the house... and then...
There was always a family ritual of fish and chips in my family home. The heat of the oven from the kitchen as the expectant plates were warmed, the large bottle of tomato sauce, the freshly brewed tea (yes, we had cups of tea with this meal; nup, never understood that) and the promise of the largest gherkins ever seen were all overshadowed by my slice of childhood heaven; a frozen chocolate dessert. And that tasty little dessert in a brown plastic pot sat on the placemat while my dad went to get the fish and chips. Yes, the desserts were paraded with some provocation on the dining room table before we even sat down. And as a child of about 7, I could not resist that dessert that melted from the outer edge inwards. I can still feel that nervous anticipation and excitement as I would casually circumnavigate the table, checking out the circular pots of chocolatey goo, teaspoon at the read secreted about my person.
I can only liken the pud to the chocolate custardy thing that you can buy at the supermarket. Awesome chocolatey-ness; liquidy, luscious and lingering on my tongue. I may just have snuck the edge of a teaspoon around the rim of EVERYONE's pot and had a little taste as it gently melted in preparation for when it was supposed to be eaten... YUM. And, I have no idea why I never got busted. AND why would you leave them all out there, tempting my little tastebuds as I simpered around the house unsupervised? I guess I had more self control and decorum then because if I was presented with the same situation now, I would probably eat all four of those desserts, back to back without an iota of guilt. With deliberately left smudges of choc on my lips. Mmmmm, I can be taken there now. Yes, baby... And for those of you who may have witnessed me sampling any warm or velvety sweet sauces, yes - I may just disappear somewhere else - mind and body - And as the sugar hit coats my tongue and slides sensuously down my throat, I know that it touches me all the way to my toes. Mmmmm.
And now I cannot concentrate enough to finish this post... Darn. I had so much to say, so much to share...... Nup. Can't do it.
Chocolate anyone?
Post Script: Sigh - And I'm back.
I just wanted to say that Fridays still hold a certain thrill for me. And as I sit here in my snug, freshly painted study, I know that I may be as electrically and enthusiastically charged just as I once was when childishly armed with that teaspoon ready to dive
lips first
into that
chocolate heaven.
And the reason for this effervescent excitement?
Well this FRIDAY coming may just be
Well this FRIDAY coming may just be
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