Saturdays are for the...girls?

If you’re reading this on the day it’s published, it’s a Saturday.

For some, the best day of the week. For some, the most confronting. I feel like on television, Saturday is portrayed as the biggest day of all seven, providing your work conforms with the traditional Monday to Friday 9 to 5. On Saturday, you’re seeing family, you’re landscaping the garden, you’re sorting out the garage, you’re playing sports, you’re getting lunch with friends, you’re hitting your favourite bars, you’re going on a date with that guy you’ve been waiting years to go out with.

But in reality, once you’ve made it through five days of working for the man, sometimes, on Saturday, all you want to do is lay comatose on the couch watching your favorite sitcom for twelve hours.

“Saturdays are for a reset.” Jen says, “At our age you need one after a long week.”

Eperly screws up her face at the words ‘our age’.

“We’re not 80, Jen.” She says, indignantly. “Saturdays are still for getting your ya-yas out.”

“I’ve never heard that expression in my life.” Jen says curtly.

“Yes, you have. I’ve said it before. Or are you saying you don’t listen to me?” Eperly’s eyes twinkle mischievously as they fix on Jen’s face for her reaction.

She doesn’t respond.

“Saturday can be for whatever you need it to be.” I say amicably.

“Why do you always have to be Switzerland?” Eperly says, “Admit it. You like to get your ya-yas out on a Saturday night. At the bar. Having one martini too many.”

As if reminded, Eperly reaches across the table, topping up our glasses from the half empty bottle.

I tilt my glass towards her as the bubbles fizz.

“I have to agree with Jen on the ya-yas thing. It’s a weird saying. But, I can admit I still enjoy a martini or two on the weekend.”

Eperly holds her hands in the air. “That’s all I need.”

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with a weekend cocktail on occasion.” Jen concedes. “What I’m saying is, Saturdays are for recharging. Whether you get that through pilates and a walk on the beach or hitting the club until 2am. But for me, a hangover is like a death sentence these days. But society makes you feel bad for staying in and doing nothing. Even though, for a lot of people, that’s what they need.”

Jen’s comment got me thinking.

She’s right, I think. Saturdays, much like everything else in this world, are based on socially constructed expectations. Are you having enough fun? Are you being wholesome enough? Are you doing what is expected of you on a Saturday morning? On a Saturday afternoon? On a Saturday night? Are you preparing for the next week? Or recovering from the week that was? Are you getting some sun after a week stuck in the office? Are you sleeping in? Are you going out? Are you making the most of it?

“And don’t even get me started on Sundays.” Jen warns.

Eperly laughs, that great laugh of hers.

"Sundays are a different thing entirely." She says. "They're for regretting that one martini too many."