Thank God Friday Means Nothing

I have (consensual) access to someone else’s Instagram. I won’t bother explaining why.

The feed of their followers is rife with pictures of random things. Makeup, high heels, trees, flowers, booze, skylines, beer flights, drag queens, typewriters, ukuleles, food people didn’t cook, food people did cook, drunk people, sober people, babies, fashion, more drag queens, more babies, fashion on people’s babies, babies that will be future drag queens, etc.

Then, every Wednesday I’m assaulted with images about “hump day.” Every Friday I’m assaulted with images about TGIF.

I pride myself on being a fairly intelligent person, but for several years I believed that Hump Day was a day reserved for people getting it on. I didn’t understand that people hated their lives so much that they needed a mid-week goal post to get to in order to keep on truckin’ until Friday. It was astonishing to me.

That being said, I’m a pretty big proponent of defeatism, and bitching and whining. I love complaining.