A weekend of it

I have a pet theory (yes, another one) that saying things in French imbues any ordinary word, phrase or description with a certain classiness. 

If you want to sound "fancy" say it in French.  Although, someone did point out to me recently that this theory falls to pieces as soon as you mention the word "shower".  Also the French term for that wonderful thing that we've all just experienced, aka the weekend, is somewhat lacking in the elegance and European chicness that "frenchifying" usually produces.  They call it "le weekend". Le disappointing.

Still, fancy, exotic French terms aside, the weekend is great because you can do whatever you want, right? Mais non, my leetle blog reading frands, zees ees not so.  The truth of it is that though the week, for many people, may be broken up into 5 working days and 2 non-working, the fact of the matter is that we are obliged to undertake any number of chores during the week, and a lot of these necessarily happen in the space between Friday evening and Monday morning: the weekend.  I don't know what yours is like but this is how mine plays out.

Friday evening - Trash talk.  There is nothing better than having a good old b*tch session after a long week of holding it all in.  Work frustrations.  Family frustrations.  Anything that during the previous 5 days has made you want to stab someone in the face with the nearest piece of office/kitchen equipment.  Offload it onto someone you love and then have a sudden need to go home and feed your non-existent axolotl as soon as the other person decides it's their turn to vent.

Saturday - The wearing of "clever" slogan t-shirts.  You can't get away with wearing them at work.  You might wear them to bed but only if you're not interested in anyone in the vicinity wanting to have sex with you.  There is a small window on Saturdays, and if you're not a churchgoer, Sundays, when the wearing of slogan t-shirts is permitted.  For about 6 hours between 10am and 4pm that Rocknroll Motherf***er t-shirt from the Big Day Out 2001 is allowed out. 

Wear it to the mall, where you can buy another slogan t-shirt that you'll hardly ever don.  All of this garments will last for a very long time.  When you die you will have around 300 of them and they will all be in near pristine condition.  There may be arguments over which one you should be buried in "stab me, I'm a tourist" or "Jack Bauer, wouldn't put up with this sh*t".  Apparently, in the future burying someone in a suit is considered "bourgeois".

Washing.  Saturday's are like South Africa in the eighties and apartheid reigns...in the laundry.  Blacks and whites are mercilessly separated in a regime that knows not all socks are created equal. 

If you're lucky you'll be able to hang your washing out on the line on a sunny day which is an activity that's domestic and wholesome.  Clean washing flapping in the wind on a sunny day is a cheering sight. 

By comparison a rickety clothes horse draped in tights and undies is more depressing than when Bambi's mother died. [note to self, submit suggestion to writers of Grey's Anatomy, Extreme Makeover Home Edition, and Dr Who that additional emotional punch can be added to any scene by having a pair of black-turning-grey socks lying on top of a radiator in the background.]

Sunday - Garden "work". You might have other techniques but for me garden work consists of me glaring balefully at 3 month old fallen leaves and hoping they'll get the hint and migrate to the organics bin of their own accord.  So far they've been very uncooperative.  I would try setting fire to them with my mind but I'm pretty sure it would be in direct contravention of local council by-laws.

Shoe cleaning.  I think this is a hangover from my school days but it is nice I'll be able to look down on Monday morning and see my own grim countenance reflected.

Sewing guilt.  I have any number of garments that require maintenance.  A hem that needs attention here.  A zip that needs replacing there.  Basic jobs that I have the necessary skill to undertake.  Rather than actually do them I cast sidelong glances at my sewing machine and then go and watch an episode of some teen drama that I've never seen before and don't care about and let the guilt wash over me like designer clothes off a starlet's back.

Making the bed.  I don't make the bed during the week.  As long as there's a sufficiently big puddle of bedclothes that I can burrow into I don't much care whether they're straight or if the throw pillow is at a jaunty angle that suggests "casual but anally retentive".  But neither do I want to have to contort myself in order to get even duvet coverage, so once I week there's a bit of a tidy up.  I always seem to change the sheets on a Sunday as well.  I'm not sure why but I'm sure it's got something to do with God.

So what chores or activities do you take part in at le weekend?  Is your weekend actually relaxing or is it simply filled with other stuff that you need to do.

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