Woe is Wednesday
Wednesday is in the bathtub, and refuses to come out.
Tuesday is having none of it.
“Someone ELSE might need to get in there, you know!”
Wednesday mumbles something incomprehensible through the locked door that sounds vaguely as though she is speaking from beneath bubbles.
“I can’t HEAR you!” Tuesdays shouts. He has had a long hard day picking up all the pieces Monday left behind, and all he wants is a bath so he can finish his day in peace. He smooths the towel and clothing neatly draped over his arm and tries to calm down.
“What is all this racket?” Along comes Friday in her pink satin robe with the feather trim and the newest bunny slippers poking out from underneath. She always wears the bunny slippers for Wednesday.
“Wednesday is in the bathtub and won’t come out!” Tuesday says crossly.
“Now, Tuesday,” Friday says, gently, “we go through this every week.”
“Then she should know to get out of the bathtub!”
Wednesday wails plaintively from behind the door.
“Tuesday,” Friday cajoles.
“Every week!” He huffs, his light tenor indignant. He is ready to blow himself up to a full gremlin episode if needed, body taut, bow tie quivering.
“Tuesday,” Friday warns. The sounds emanating from the bathroom have now become great wracking sobs, punctuated by the boom-thlock! sound of arms being raised and slammed with force into the water. Huge sloshing noises are accompanied by the crack and splash of vehemently displaced liquid landing on a tiled floor.
Friday waits, looking patiently at Tuesday. He scowls and furrows his brow.
A bit of bubble creeps from beneath the door.
“Fine!” he grouses, throwing his arms in the air and untidying the clothes he was carrying, turning to stomp away.
“Oh, you’ve dropped a sock, dear.”
He grumbles incoherently and swoops back to get it, his face a splotchy bright red. The arms of his round eyeglass frames are so tightly fitted around his ears that they do not even slip when he bends over to snatch the sock from the floor. He grits his teeth and growls in frustration — the sock landed in the growing puddle in front of the door. He stomps away, mumbling loudly and shaking his head and complaining to the best of his ability. Friday watches him go, only the faint twitch of her lips giving away the humor behind her carefully maintained expression of sympathy. It would not do to laugh just now.
The echoing sobs from within the bathroom gradually subside to a tearstreaked sniffle, accompanied by a small case of the hiccups.
Friday straightens her shoulders and knocks on the bathroom door.
“Wednesday? He’s gone.”
She is answered by a series of hiccups and snuffles, accompanied by splashes and wet footsteps. The door unlocks. There stands Wednesday in her towel and robe, looking deflated. She smiles dejectedly and bursts into tears. Friday gathers the bedraggled wet being into her arms.
“There, there,” she says, comfortingly, “you’re alright now. Is it the same thing again, or just Tuesday banging on the door as soon as you crawled in there?”
“Nobody likes me!” Wednesday wails miserably. “I’m horrible! I’m right in the middle of things like a great lump they have to climb over and they’re only happy with me when it looks like they’re getting away from me and I… I… hic.”
“Oh, it’s the same thing all over again, isn’t it. Poor dear.” Friday looks patiently at the ceiling and then takes a breath. “Why don’t we start off with a nice cup of tea?”
Wednesday wipes her nose on Friday’s shoulder and weeps as Friday leads her by the hand to the break room.
“Why don’t they like meeee…” Wednesday wonders, trailing off into still more tears.
“They do like you, darling girl. They especially like you in the afternoon when you are the…?” Friday looks at her pointedly and makes a questioning motion with her eyebrows.
“I am the beginning of the downward slide toward Saturday and Sunday.”
Friday clears her throat.
“Friday, Saturday and Sunday.” Wednesday corrects herself. She takes a sip of tea so as not to have to do any more explaining for a moment. Friday smiles a happy smile and nibbles on a biscuit.
“But what about Tuesday??” Wednesday cries as the thought occurs to her. “He is so snide, and self-righteous, and always ready to yell at me!”
“Oh, we need to go easy on Tuesday, my dear. The poor dear lives in Monday’s shadow and feels obligated to do everything by all the rules he can find. He and Thursday really have it the hardest, if you think about it.”
Thursday harrumphs from the corner where he is napping.
“It is true.” He sighs. “We do. Nobody is happy to see us.” He pauses for an extravagant yawn. “Except sometimes by accident.”
They can hear Tuesday’s voice grumbling down the hallway and into the bathroom. He closes the door and shrieks. Friday quietly sips her tea and listens to him going in and out with wet things and dry things, until finally he is quiet and the water is running. She wonders at the tiny secret smile on Wednesday’s face for a moment, and then hears Tuesday shouting again as doors and drawers slam beyond the walls.
Ah.
She holds out her hand, sternly. Really, these two.
“Duck, please.”
Wednesday pouts and swings her slippered feet like the woeful and mischievous child she happens to be until Friday clears her throat. Wednesday reluctantly pulls the little yellow ducky out of her bathrobe pocket and gives it to Friday. Thursday has gone back to snoring and doesn’t notice.
“Thank you. Would you like me to do your hair when you’ve finished your tea? You can choose the ribbons.”
Wednesday brightens considerably at the prospect, and her waif-like freckled face lights up brilliantly when she smiles. She still has the chipped tooth and the skinned knees, but by lunchtime she will have stretched out a bit into a more coltish creature. By the end of the work day, she will be back to her usual cheerful self. She just doesn’t get her day off on a good foot very often.
Friday manages to knock on the door before Tuesday can open it to begin stomping down the hallway.
It really does happen every week.
“Where is my DUCK?” He is shouting, and doesn’t hear her. She knocks a second time and holds the duck up in the air on the flat of her palm at the level of his eyes.
The door flings open and he stops mid-tirade. Still in his work clothes and glasses— he has had a very long day. He looks at the little yellow toy and his lips twitch. His eyes go from the duck to Friday’s face, and he smiles. Then he reaches out and delicately plucks it from her hand and leans out to give her a peck on the cheek before closing the door with a bang.
Friday combs and braids Wednesday’s dark and plentiful curls out on the veranda where it is too far away for them to hear Tuesday sing.
