So you think you know it all, do you? Think you’re so on top of everything that you know best what everybody else should be doing, and you won’t hesitate to tell them?
I’ve seen this phenomenon before, on the first few seasons of Survivor. It was always the older person who thought they had such superior experience in hut-building and berry-picking and fish-spearing that they could organize the whole camp and tell everyone what to do and that that would make their teammates respect and value them.
And guess what’s happened? That’s right: voted off. The young hotties would sit there and smile and nod and then go to tribal council and, zap. So you be a smiler and a nodder too, and the boss of only yourself.
Hello, my name is Pam, and I am a Monday Lover. It’s not that I don’t like weekends, exactly. But on the weekends I spend a lot of time doing all those household chores — laundry, grocery shopping, weeding — I don’t have time to do during the week. My husband and kids are around, wanting to be cooked for, driven around, and sometimes even communed with.
And then on Monday morning, they all leave. I’m alone, free to work without distraction or interruption. I don’t feel guilty about writing instead of going to the bookstore with my husband or making pasta for my son. And if I sometimes sneak out for lunch with a friend, it’s nobody’s business but my own.
But when I was young, weekends meant fun and freedom and sex, and Monday meant a return to drudgery and imprisonment in some dumb job. Would I go back to that time? No. I love loving Mondays. But I wouldn’t mind loving Saturdays and Sundays a little bit more.