Weekend, why does thou torture me so?

I love weekends! I look forward to them with high expectations of fun, romance and adventure. My Fridays are filled with anticipation, like opening one of Willie Wonka’s Wonka-bars, hoping to find a “golden ticket” or in my case, a “perfect weekend”. Week days have a tendency to rob me of all my joy. Slaving away to bring in the bacon (turkey bacon of course), and running around like a chicken without a head can suck the life right out of you. But oh (sigh), then there’s weekends… People walk around on Fridays with a bounce in their step, they greet each other friendly, and make some obscure comments about the weather. A total stranger will enthusiastically fill you in on her weekend plans in a check-out line. Bank employees are definitely friendlier, hey they might even offer you doughnuts and coffee on a Saturday morning. Now that brings me to the problem, actually two problems: 1. I expect way too much from two fairly ordinary days 2. Fun in my dictionary is the same as Food The one is connected to the other. If I try and eat right and exercise on a weekend, I’m already stifling the fun. So, I have to find a back-up plan so the fun can go on. I start looking around at my husband (who of course has his weekend expectations) or a friend (who’s plans didn’t quite include me) or a family member (who thought this weekend is a good time to dump some problems on me). None of this is helping. Any time now I can find myself wandering through the house (or better yet, the mall), scouting for a glimpse of hope, any indication that this weekend is not going to crush my dreams. Lo and behold, what do I find? Morsels of …

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