Remember that “Friday feeling”?
The spine-tingling moment when you realised there was no more work or school runs – just two days to do your own thing.
Retiree pals say they looked forward to the weekend too – even though they no longer have a nine to five, they still had a weekday routine that included trying to be good (staying off the chocolate and wine), looking after the grandkids so their parents could work, exercise classes or walking, and for a couple the odd voluntary shift in a charity shop.
But Friday was Fri-yay!
I realised recently how much I miss that moment signalling a change in pace, when all rules are out the window.
It was two Fridays ago and the weekend signalled the same as the weekdays had – staying in, nowhere to go and melting into the sofa with a goblet of wine in the evening.
If you’re still working as much as ever, having to look presentable by a given time which involves showering and leaving the house, this probably doesn’t apply.
The cork will be popped after a hard day or week at work and that’s OK. Because you’re worth it.
But for anyone who hasn’t waved the kids off to school for weeks, or who can’t remember the last time they wore anything without an elasticated waist, this one’s for you.
I decided I had to restore some structure to the days and weeks.
From now on, in a bid to claw back that magical Friday feeling, Monday to Fridays would be tee-total and chocolate would be reserved for weekends only.
Monday was a breeze.
I’d done Dry January (most unlike me and weirdly quite easy, in fact a relief after festive excesses . . . well, I lasted until the 28th, thoroughly miserable in the realisation I’d actually gained a pound) – so this Monday to Friday lark would be a breeze.
On Tuesday, a pal sent me one of those funny viral pictures.
It was a poster that read: “Close the fridge, you are not hungry. You are bored, greedy and getting fat.”
I printed it out and stuck it on the fridge door.
On Wednesday, my husband came home with a box of 10 Cadbury’s Creme Eggs.
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “You don’t have to eat them,” he replied. “We do have three kids.”
No one likes a smarty pants.
On Thursday, a bottle of gin started winking at me.
Actually winking.
I’d sworn to keep off the wine Monday to Friday. No one said anything about gin. Or tonic.
Thursday was almost Friday and so I poured a glass and it was delicious.
As were the remaining two Creme Eggs.
If I’m catching the mood right, many of us are indulging more than we should. We’re also feeling guilty about it.
But maybe we’re just, well, waiting. And a bit bored.
And maybe it’s all perfectly fine and we’re doing whatever it takes to get us through.
Chin, chin.
Read more from Martel Maxwell here.
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