F-R-I-D-A-Y

It really is strange. Absolutely crazy and bizarre. The way we think about time. The way we think about a day ... a day like Friday. A day feels like a thing you can hold in your hand, but it's not. A word that starts with "f" like freedom and fun and fish and forget. Friday has weight. It tastes good, this "Friday." It has noise to it, it goes out late and makes happy noise. It smells good, exciting, romantic. We love Friday.

Friday -- often as not, it is preceded by "THANK GOD IT'S ..." because it's become conventionally the day we

LET DOWN
LET LOOSE

It's just a neutral twenty-four hour period. Nothing more. But say the word, "Friday" and it's explosive. "See you Friday night!" It's a late dinner in a sexy little restaurant with someone you like or hope to love, with wine, candles, red checkered tablecloth. You do the amorous math. If you get lucky and end up in bed, staying up late, being silly, a little feral, no need to rush tomorrow, it's Saturday, slouchy, slow, sweet, satisfying Saturday.