Ode to the perfect Sunday

Dear Sunday,

I used to hate you, but you already knew that. You used to represent long days of studying and writing papers, and you'd never fail to subtly remind me just how far behind I was in my studies. You were kind of a jerk to me, Sunday. But ever since we've been re-introduced as friends, I have been hopeful about our future.

Last week we sat together on the bakery's patio. You watched me read and eat a cookie; you didn't even judge me when I blatantly eavesdropped on that annoying couple's argument. You agreed with me when I concluded that Tim was being kind of a jerk and should have just went with Kelly to the concert last night.

You sat beside me on my favorite park bench where we listened to lovely, mopey music and people-watched. Thanks for not rushing me, Sunday. There were a lot of interesting characters in Shipe Park last week, weren't there?

As we walked home, you complimented me on my new shoes and agreed that kicking the freshly fallen leaves around was an appropriate thing to do in middle of the street, and was equally annoyed as I when that jerk honked at us to get out of the way.

Thanks, Sunday - our complicated relationship is officially over. Let's go steady.