Short Weekend

Unfortunately, I have no picture to accompany this post, which is such a shame.  But alas, I don't sleep with a camera.

It was 5 am.  The normal sounds of Matt shouting at Hans ("Bad dog! Bad!  Okay, lick my feet, good dog.  No Jumping! Bad! Bad Dog!") woke me from my deep sleep.

I peeled open my eyes only to see a dark figure, dressed to the nines in work clothes, looking around for socks.  I sat for a moment, perplexed by this familiar Monday through Friday scene.  And then, after three minutes of watching Matt finish up his early morning routine, I realized it was Sunday.

For a moment, the trickster in me thought about letting Matt drive to "work" and figure things out on his own.
But then again, I was tired of him rustling around making noise.  So I broke the news:

Me: "Why are you wearing your work Uniform? "
"Because I have to go to work."
Me:  "Babe, it's Sunday.  Didn't that kind of feel like a short weekend?"
"It always feels like a short weekend."
Me: (to myself in my head)  "Really? Really!? Because weekends usually feel long to me.  You know, being cramped up in a crap hole of a house with no one but Matt and those savage dogs running around.  Weekends are not short my friends. Weekends are long."