It is a truth universally acknowledged that Mondays suck.
The alarm sounds. You rip your eyelids open. And instead of a day filled with cookies, long naps, and TV, you have to crawl out from under your toasty warm bedsheets and go to the eight hour dungeon called work.
Work that forces you to shower, brush your teeth, and do your makeup—all on a day that you really don’t want to.
That is Monday.
I am convinced that certain horrors only occur on Mondays. Tiny irritations that make you throw your head back and groan. And they start at the stroke of twelve.