If there is one day that Peter despises it’s not Monday.
Wednesday is fine by him too: it is the end of the hard part.
Weekends used to fill him with joy until the world made them just another day. They still don’t fill him with any particular sense of dread.
Thursday is a bit of an odd one, like the months March or June, but he can handle it well enough.
That leaves the TU day.
That murderously horrific day.
Even during the months of summer or when Ruby Tuesday comes on the radio and makes him think of a time when good music was made, he still shivers a little inside when Monday turns into…
Why should it bother him so? I hear you mumble. What’s with the whole Tuesday hating? It’s silly! A path to Nutsville!
The only way I can explain it sufficiently is by asking you to imagine that each year, on a particular Tuesday, for instance forty seven days before parents allow their kids to slaughter sweet and peaceful eggs, they allow the birth of thousands of Peter’s kin, smother them in lemon and sugar and scoff the poor fellows before they even learn their alphawhatsitsname, in the name of religion!
Luckily for Peter, the kid, whose plate he was heartlessly flipped on to, had murdered and munched too much to eat him.
It still filled him with dread, every year, nonetheless.
Poor Peter Pancake.
Have a heart this year and give a thought for Peter’s kin.