Monday is the day that everything starts all over again,
Monday is the day when just as you are beginning to feel peaceful you have to get up and get dressed and put on your old gray bonnet and drive down to Dover again,
It is the day when life becomes grotesque again,
Because it is the day when you have to face your desk again;
When the telephone rings on Saturday or Sunday you are pleased because it probably means something pleasing and you take the call with agility,
But when it rings on any other day it just usually means some additional responsibility,
And if in doubt,
Why the best thing to do is to answer it in a foreign accent or if you are a foreigner answer it in a native accent and say you are out.
Oh, there is not a week-day moment that can't wring a sigh from you,
Because you are always being confronted with people who want to sell you something, or if they don't want to sell you something, there is something they want to buy from you,
And every shining hour swaggers arrogantly up to you demanding to be improved,
And apparently not only to improve it, but also to shine it, is what you are behooved.
Oh for a remedy, oh for a panacea, oh for a something, oh yes, oh for a coma or swoon,
Yes indeed, oh for a coma that would last from nine A.M. on Monday until Saturday noon.
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