Erica Lucke Dean

"Making the world a better place, one book at a time."

monday monday

I have never been happier to bid the weekend adieu.  As in, goodbye weekend…good riddance, can’t wait for Monday.  You know Monday, that day we all love to hate?  Well, this week, Monday is my new best friend, because it means the weekend is over. I usually look forward to those few uninterrupted days with my husband, but not this week.  This week, the time we spent together was torture. 

Literally. 

He made me help with the outdoor chores.  And while I will readily admit they needed to be done, I can honestly say I wanted nothing to do with them.  All things considered, I would have rather been cooking for six.  Seriously, why do outdoor chores need to be completed while the sun is directly overhead, beating down like a red hot club, whipping me across every exposed surface of my body?  I am pitifully unprepared for a sun outing.  I have no natural defenses against the ultraviolet rays.  I have light eyes and light skin, and the sun considers me fresh meat, ripe for the taking.  I swear, I think the sun lets loose with a loud, “Bwahahahaha” the minute I step foot under a clear blue sky. 

I am only slightly exaggerating.  I have been known to get sunburned in a dark movie theater…that is how easily I burn.  So what on earth was my husband thinking when he dragged me out of the house, kicking and screaming…begging to be set free to climb back into the safety of my coffin?  Ok I was just kidding that time I don’t sleep in a coffin.  But you get the picture, right?

And ok, so I wasn’t gracious about it.  I whined about the heat, complained about my skin igniting under a cloudless sky, cried about my need for cold water and air conditioning.  I apparently whimpered over and over again that I would die if I had to stay outside another minute.  Even my son looked me in the face and said, “Mom, you won’t die…get a grip.  It’s just daylight.”

I didn’t die, but I think I may have come really close.  

And when my husband discovered I wasn’t sweating, because despite popular opinion I don’t really sweat (which is apparently really bad), he was actually a little worried and sent me inside for water and shade.   I imagined him comparing me to some delicate flower, but to my surprise he told me I wasn’t dainty, or prissy, or any other such adjectives.  I guess I’m just a northern girl…and northern girls have no business out in that hot southern sun. 

Or maybe I’ve watched a just few too many vampire movies.

Until the next time…I’ll be enjoying my Monday from the inside of my air conditioned house.

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