thursdaze

If asked, I'm usually trite and say my favorite day of the week is Friday. Then I start second guessing and thinking that really I probably actually prefer Saturdays since I don't have to work at all, but somehow there's a certain allure about Fridays. And somehow work is always better on a Friday, just for knowing that it won't endure all that much longer. My co-workers used to call them "Five Pill Fridays," operating on the assumption I couldn't possibly be so chipper without some sort of aid, but really all that happened was that they fed us biscuits at 10 am. Biscuits can go a long way, too, particularly when you have six of them.
I also find that certain days take on or off allure depending on what schedule you end up falling into. For instance, the years I had piano lessons most definitely led me away from preferring Tuesdays, but now that I've got Bible study then, I look forward to them. On the whole, though, Fridays through Sundays are pretty decent (as long as we're not counting mornings -- ever), and Mondays are inescapably drab. The rest of the week moseys along until we get to Thursdays.

Thursdays were nice enough before I came to Australia -- they were still almost Friday, still past the halfway point, still reasonably well behaved. Since moving here, though, they've taken on a whole new meaning, which can be summed up quite nicely in one little, dangerous word: shopping.

Now, I am not an obsessive shopper. I enjoy it, oh yes, and I am, if I do say so myself, quite good at it, but I am not as far gone as I could be. Which really is saying something, believe it or not. I go through spurts. Perhaps you could call me a bulimic shopper, though only, of course, in jest, as I have already pointed out that I am not obsessive. I am simply capable. Quite capable.

Generally my spurts revolve around a particular weakness -- art, jewelry or Victoria Secret underwear, for example. Generally they are relatively short-lived, if by short-lived you mean less than $200, which I do. Generally.

My most recent spurt occurred last Thursday and would be titled, if I had to title it, "Something to Wear Tomorrow." I don't really like laundry, you see.
I'd felt that I'd been waning lately in the aspect of color: I'd broke rank and started wearing neutrals to work. For three days in a row, which was entirely too serious to deal with any other way apart from shopping, in my opinion. So I set off to find something vivid.

It's amazing what you can find when you set off with such a goal in mind. I had, I assure you, no trouble fitting the bill, though I spent a wee bit more than I intended. One cannot be too constrained when shopping.
After obtaining my splash of vibrancy, my thoughts turned to my toes. They were, you see, cold.

Now what follow is really what I see as quite clear-cut logic. Bear with me if you will.

Toes cold; therefore, I am. No, no, just kidding. What I meant was: toes cold; therefore, buy high-heeled, knee-high shiny black boots. (Incidentally, have you ever thought about what order you place your adjectives in? Of course not. You do it naturally, just as you chose your verbs without a moment's hesitation, and apply articles in precisely the right position and never when unnecessary. It was not until I had to teach my students Order of Adjectives that I realized we do actually have an order for these things; you would, for example, rarely think to say "black shiny high-heeled knee-high boots" or, say, "brick yellow road," though of course my students might. But thankfully you think differently on many such matters.)

And hence, high-heeled, knee-high shiny black boots. Or, to be slightly more philosophical about it, high-heeled, knee-high shiny black boots are. And not only are, but also are in my possession. But really, all this was about Thursdays. Or have I lost you?

Thursdays in Australia are vital, you see, because Thursdays are the only day any sane person can shop. Of course, theoretically shops are open most days from 9-5, but unless you're chucking a sickie, these are rather inconvenient hours for working girls. Frankly, I think this is part of the reason why Australia allows so many sick days per year: very few people are actually sniffling, but they do need to find new trousers. Heaven forbid they have a commitment on Thursdays -- they'd never be clothed again.

But Thursdays the stores stay open -- past 5 o'clock!

In America, that last sentence would not warrant an exclamation. In England, it would not, either. Nor Spain, nor Korea, nor Japan, nor France, nor Canada, nor Brazil, nor Antarctica. In Australia, however, it would. In Australia, stores close at 5. Their employees go home at 5:01, and there is no hope of getting anything whatsoever past 4:57. Saturdays are no better -- and this coming not from the outback, but Sydney! The biggest city in the country!

And so, when I say that Thursday hours are worth exclamation points, I am quite sure you will agree. Stores stay open as late as 8, or even, in some cases, 9. It is amazing.

The trouble, though, is that, since shopping is confined exclusively to one night, it becomes a rare treat. And rare treats, unfortunately, tend to lead to lavish spending. Which brings us to my boots.
I didn't consider them lavish at the time -- I am not, as I said, obsessive -- though the next day when I suddenly remembered heels aren't exactly the footwear equivalent of a La-Z-Boy, I began to think I should have rethought the heel thing.

But how could I have? I was in a Thursdaze.