Aaron Schuster:
There was a proposal to ban Mondays. It passed, overwhelmingly. Mondays are terrible days, nothing good ever happens on a Monday, even old ladies of the sort who carry large plastic bags and pick at knots in their hair agreed that they would be measurably better off without the Monday. The campaign for “The Reform of the Living Week” was a success. Monday disemboweled himself in a fit of despair. “It is not true,” he said before committing the deed. “They only hate me because I am first.”
The law had passed, Monday was gone, they cremated his body and spread the ashes in the river. There was an ingenious solution to safeguard the numerical integrity of the calendar: in place of the banned Monday there was now an additional Sunday (the Church liked that!). The new progression of the week thus went as follows: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Sunday. And what happened to Mardi? It’s not a pleasant story. Mardi liked where he was before, “why move?,” he thought, and he never really got along with his twice-as-long neighbor. His habits started to change. He woke up earlier, drank a triple dose of coffee, couldn’t buy fresh fish, stopped eating at restaurants. Sometimes I think I hardly know him anymore. There’s talk of replacing him, with a third Sunday.
