Mondays. Oh dear. They may as well be called Moandays, right??? They’re bad enough on their own, I know I know, what with having to be back at work or school, back to the same asphyxiating, soul-sapping grind. (Except for those with non-traditional schedules, to whom Wednesday, for example, may be the hated day. To those people: Please do not read this now. Please come back on Wednesday. Thank you.) And it’s even worse if, for some reason, you are compelled to step on the scale after a weekend of bloated bacchanalia and see real live numerical evidence that you are, indeed, a gelatinous glutton with no hope of redemption.
So, with that in mind, and because I love you all so very very much and want only the best for you, I have a little game for you today. Take a look at these two pictures of a dish in which part of my lunch was served yesterday:
Mondays, like Fridays, deserve their own special catch phrase. But don’t you worry your pretty little heads: I’ve already come up with one. Three years ago, in fact. Remember?