Oooh, it’s Monday! A day for staying in bed, pulling the covers over your head and pretending the world does not exist outside the boundaries of your flannel sheets. A day for snoozing the alarm, falling asleep in the shower, nicking yourself shaving and staring, dumbfounded, at the closet with not the slightest inclination of what to wear. A day for shuddering at the touch of the cold bathroom floor. For gagging on your multivitamins at breakfast. For spilling milk on yourself, and the fridge, and the floor. A day for missing your exit, hitting the curb when you park, closing your jacket in the car door and tripping on a loose flap of industrial, office carpet. A day so wrought with perils and pitfalls that it can only be described with one word, a word that strikes fear in the hearts of the working class, a word that summons up all that is wrong about selling your time and talents (or maybe just your time) for money, a word such as “Monday.”