Fridays

There's something about Friday nights.  Herself isn't quite sure what that something is, exactly.  It's something tricky, something nebulous, something nameless and colorless and ever-so-slightly disconcerting.

Normally Herself enjoys a fair amount of solitude.  Every other evening of the week, if Beloved Husband is traveling or working late or out at a function, she's quite comfortable closing up the house and going upstairs by herself.  Not a problem.  She never begrudges him being out -- he does what he needs to do, and she does what needs to be done, as always.

Friday nights without adult company, though, are Very Difficult Indeed.

Why Friday?  She does not know.  She doesn't talk about the something about Fridays, because it is so inexplicable, and so seemingly inconsequential, that it sounds nearly ridiculous to try to describe the deep-rooted unease that appears on those nights.

One of the reasons Herself took up sparring in taekwondo was because there was a Friday evening sparring class.  It occupied the time perfectly, took Herself out of the house long enough that she could avoid the cloud that would otherwise descend in the evening.  It was good.  Now that she's retired from taekwondo, though, the Friday disquiet creeps back. And it is even more enveloping than ever.

Nights such as tonight, Herself is especially grateful for company on a Friday.

Such a blessing.

Amen.