When I was a kid, I hated Sunday. Sunday inevitably meant being stuck at my house with parents, fuck-all to do, only books I had already read around, and extreme boredom. Seems like it was ALWAYS raining, my parents were ALWAYS home, and the day ALWAYS ended up in some sort of boredom-induced battle.
Now I love Sunday. Love. It. Waking up this morning was like waking up into a good dream. I've got my man (heh), my dog, it's unexpectedly sunny outside, and we've got all day to play. We're going to go to the park (or the pee-eh-are-kay, as we are forced to call it in front of His Highness) and make the most of this weather, even if it will be muddy. He scratched the living shit out of me trying to wake me up this morning, but I don't care, I'm still having a lovely Sunday morning. As I post this, I'm in my frog pajamas, I haven't eaten yet and am secretly hoping for challah french toast, and I am waiting for Mark to get out of the shower so we can take our beast for a nice walk. Does it get better than that?