Dear Monday

You are fired.

Why, you ask? Whatever have you done to deserve such a firing?

Because all wrongs happen on Monday (other days: don't try and break the streak, i like my catastrophes predictable mkay?), and it isn't just a "case of the Mondays," you do in fact actually suck.

Lucky for you I didn't crack any ribs, break my arms or legs or bust my head open this most recent Monday as you had me tumble ass first down a flight of wet, slippery marble stairs. In front of a bus load of people. All graceful like and soaking wet on a Monday morning. Thank you for your generosity, Monday, I should have expected as much.

It's almost as if the entire week saves up its punches until you roll around again. I think you do it on purpose. You hoard all the drama until it's your turn and then unleash your hell when I least expect it. Seriously, I manage to navigate those stairs in my rubber soled shoes on a regular basis. I'm not feeble, old or clumsy. I blame you, Monday. Kiss my ass for making me hold my germophobic hand over all nearby stair rails. No, I'm not going to touch them unless you make me. Other people don't wash their hands.

And no, you can't come back. Don't beg, lie, or make excuses. It just makes you look insincere, when we all know the incredible brute force of a fucked up Monday.

Don't slam your ass on the stairs on the way out.

On second thought, do. It's fun. Promise.