You get people who are perpetually cheery. I’m not one of them.
I truly am not something you want to be near until at least two cups of morning coffee have gone down the gullet. After that I can face the day, and manage a passable Little Miss Sunshine to boot – most of the time.
Mondays? Hmmm, no, not so much.
My loathing of this completely innocent day dates back to high school. A double helping of German grammar lay in wait 8am every Monday. Invariably my weekend homework had not been touched. It wasn’t pretty.
Years later, my ‘die, der und das’ torture long forgotten, an inexplicable gloom somehow still settles over on me on Sunday afternoons. The only cure is comfort food. Top of my list is boiled eggs and soldiers. It doesn’t get any better. Unless…
…I grab a scary-large duck egg instead of the normal hen’s egg. And instead of toast, I fry gigantic croutons in bacon fat. Round it all off with some micro leaves, dressed with a sharp Dijon vinaigrette to cut through all that richness. Bliss.
I pour a glass off buttery Chardonnay (mindful to keep the bottle close – just in case). I grab Merlot and put her on my lap, hoping that she’ll humour me for once and decide to stay. Then I tuck into my fancy bacon and eggs in front of the 8pm MNet movie. Suddenly Sunday night is a mighty fine thing. And Monday? Bring it on.