The Weekday Off

I work Saturdays.

At first, I thought that was just part of the price to pay to get a job I really wanted.

And it is.

But what there also is is an "I like it" kind of return on the compromise.

The Monday off.

I do think there is something innate wound into the strands of Saturday morning that a day by any other name cannot mean the same.

But the face of the city that the Monday off shows me is a more serene expression when we talk about leisure.

Open tables at restaurants, quiet stores, parks resting in tranquility after the over use of the weekend.

That serene expression is accompanied by a playful twinkle in its eye,

as I slip into flip flops and hop on the Vespa, while the rest of the world has long since gone by with their heels and coffee.

Playing hooky, it feels like.

The world as your oyster, it feels like.

So, playing hooky with the world as our oyster, and hubby stealing a day away from work, we went on a morning jog by the lake, took the Vespa up to one of our new favorites, Bakin' & Eggs, and spent the rest of the day at the Chicago Botanic Gardens.

Summer, at 72 and sunny, I think you did just fine today.

Oh, and you too, you weekday off, you.