*listen up.

Hey, Tuesday. Yeah, it's me, K. You know what? You know what your problem is? You're just waaaaaaaaaaay too buddy-buddy with Monday. We've talked about this; you agreed that Monday is a very bad influence. Why can't you pal around with that nice Friday boy? He's so full of optimism and promise. Monday is no good for you, with all her sleepy sneering and ugly desperation and "violent tendencies."

I'm prepared to give you another chance to prove yourself, Tuesday, because today was not your finest hour. I awoke to a puffy face, socks that won't stay up, forgotten breakfast, sub-30 outside temperatures, mascara stab wound, dead phone battery, forgotten camera cord, stumble on icy stairs, 80-plus office temperatures, forgotten meeting, splattered lunch on desk/cubicle wall/person, pathologically disregarded deadlines, and depressed mastery of the English language.

At this rate I fear I won't survive the day; that my fears are true and I really will be found days from now on the Woodside, circled by a hungry mutt, grateful I'm not alive to hear the coroner say, "Well this is new. I didn't know one could asphyxiate from dangerously small hosiery."

So shape up, Tuesday, or I'll be forced to send my henchman after you. You do not want to be snored to death, I can promise you that. REMEMBER THIS FACE.