An investigation nobody requested.
A concern has been brought to our attention.
Apparently, Tuesday keeps appearing around here.
Not Wednesday.
Not Thursday.
Tuesday.
Someone is having a difficult day?
Tuesday.
Someone needs to remember that ordinary moments matter?
Tuesday.
Someone is trying to make life more interesting?
Apparently—
also Tuesday.
At first, this seemed coincidental.
Then someone noticed.
And once something has been noticed in The Little Book of Delight, we are legally obligated to investigate.
Probably.
Monday has baggage.
Monday arrives carrying folders.
Monday knows your password expired over the weekend.
Monday has already sent an email beginning:
“Just circling back...”
Nobody invited Monday to this investigation.
Monday came anyway.
Wednesday is terribly busy being the middle.
It has responsibilities.
It must divide the week into two reasonably equal pieces while simultaneously enduring people calling it Hump Day.
We feel Wednesday has suffered enough.
Thursday is physically present but emotionally already at Friday.
Thursday keeps checking the clock.
Thursday has plans.
Friday requires no explanation.
Friday has changed clothes.
Friday knows where it's going.
Friday may already have snacks.
Saturday is unavailable for comment.
We believe Saturday is outside somewhere.
Possibly wearing flip-flops.
Sunday has traditions.
Sunday has coffee.
Sunday has newspapers, pancakes, church bells, family dinners, football games, laundry, long walks, and the faint awareness that Monday knows where you live.
Sunday is complicated.
Tuesday is simply...
there.
Tuesday woke up.
Put on sensible shoes.
Packed a sandwich.
And went about its business without expecting anybody to write about it.
Tuesday isn't trying to become Friday.
Tuesday isn't recovering from Monday.
Tuesday isn't dividing anything.
Tuesday is just quietly being Tuesday.
And perhaps that is precisely why I keep choosing it.
When you need a day that represents ordinary life, Tuesday raises its hand.
Not dramatically.
More like:
"I can do it, if nobody else wants to."
😂
For journalistic integrity, we reached out for comment.
THE LITTLE BOOK OF DELIGHT:
People have noticed you've been appearing rather frequently.
TUESDAY:
Oh.
THE LITTLE BOOK OF DELIGHT:
Do you have anything you'd like to say?
TUESDAY:
Not really.
THE LITTLE BOOK OF DELIGHT:
Are you secretly attempting to become the most important day of the week?
TUESDAY:
No.
THE LITTLE BOOK OF DELIGHT:
Where were you last Tuesday?
TUESDAY:
...Tuesday?
The interview was concluded shortly thereafter.
We found Tuesday credible.
Naturally, we formed a committee.
The committee required a clipboard.
Someone made name badges.
There may have been muffins.
After several minutes of rigorous inquiry, we reached the following conclusions:
1. Tuesday has done nothing wrong.
2. Tuesday seems genuinely surprised by the attention.
3. There is no evidence Tuesday is deliberately inserting itself into our writing.
4. Nevertheless, Tuesday continues appearing in our writing.
This case remains open.
Oh no.
I can feel meaning approaching.
Stay calm.
Perhaps Tuesday keeps appearing because most of life doesn't happen on the days we've circled on the calendar.
Most of life happens on days that don't announce themselves.
We remember birthdays.
Weddings.
Christmases.
Vacations.
Graduations.
Big beginnings.
Big endings.
But the actual substance of a life is often hidden inside days nobody thought to name.
A Tuesday when someone made you laugh.
A Tuesday when you decided to try.
A Tuesday when nothing remarkable happened and everyone you loved was simply there.
A Tuesday you didn't know you'd someday miss.
There.
Meaning got in.
We apologize.
NOTICE FROM
THE HAVEN CALENDAR DEPARTMENT
We have received several reports
concerning an unusually high number
of Tuesdays.
We are looking into it.
In the meantime,
please remain calm.
Wednesday has been notified.
😂
Pick a day of the week.
Give it a personality.
No stereotypes required.
Perhaps your Monday is actually delightful.
Perhaps Thursday collects stamps.
Perhaps Saturday is an introvert who wishes everyone would stop making plans.
Maybe Wednesday secretly paints landscapes.
Maybe Sunday has been learning the accordion.
There are no wrong answers.
Except possibly giving Tuesday an exciting nightlife.
We have met Tuesday.
It would rather be home by nine.
Having conducted this investigation, I think Tuesday deserves something.
Not a holiday.
That would make Tuesday uncomfortable.
Not a parade.
Absolutely not.
Perhaps just a small plaque somewhere in The Little Book of Delight: