Ahhh, good ol’ Sunday Funday. I’ve wanted to tackle this here on T-blawg for a very long time. And that time is now. Thirsty Thursday has been a part of my life since I entered corporate America. It was the unofficial first/third day of the weekend where you would start boozin’ and you would just tough out Friday with a hangover until you went out immediately after work and busted through the proverbial wall to start your official weekend. Saturday was date night. If you had no date it was the club with the boys. So what was Sunday? Sunday didn’t have a name but it had its on purpose.
Sunday went one of two ways for single men. You either nursed your Thirsty Thursday/Friday Boozin’/Saturday Date Night or Club Night accumulated hangover on the couch watching movies. Maybe doing some laundry in between naps and bathroom puke runs. Possibly sweating out the hangover at the gym. Definitely eating a greasy hangover breakfast cure. Sometimes cuddling in bed with a lucky lady. Or sometimes even keeping the party going by holding on to the minutes of the fading weekend before Monday came crashing down on you. OR…there was FOOTBALL!!! That’s right. Men owned Sunday for a very long time. Either at home or at the bar or the game itself, Sunday was OUR day before it ever had a title. It was men and football. Then at some point over the last 6-7 years according to my calculations, some woman on social media decided to call Sunday…Sunday Funday. That name is definitely a very stupid name. And with that stupidness came the mimosas and brunches and day drinking at the so-called “trendy” Sunday Funday spots. Selfies at these hotspots started to pop up all over social media. Tons of #sundayfunday hashtagged pics of groups of women with their “skinny” arms strategically bent on their hips to slim their non-existent arm fat were hitting my timelines every damn Sunday! Sunday was taken from us men and it was forced to wear a sundress, big sunglasses and force-fed frozen margaritas while looking like some dopey housewife trying to hold onto her fading youth on some awful Bravo reality show. What the hell happened?! Enough!!!
I’m Italian. My people originated Sunday Funday. We called it just Sunday though and we would eat, swear and then eat & swear some more. Then I grew up and moved into the city and went on Sunday recovery and debauchery tears of straight awesomeness. Now? I enjoy my Sundays movie watching, errand running and writing. Sure that is tame but I’m a grown ass man now. But come September through February me and the rest of my fellow men OWN Sundays with football. There is no way around it. So…here’s how it will go down. I’ll allow the Sunday Funday name. The dopey pics. The hashtags. The day drinking. But only during the Spring & Summer. All you ladies and non-football loving dudes (if there is such a thing) can have Sunday for that half of the year. But come Labor Day, batten down the hatches, board up your windows, take shelter in yo’ basements! Because the men are back. And Sunday is ours until the first Sunday in February. That’s just how it is. Deal with it. And I just made that law and so it shall be! I haven’t made a law in a while.
Until next time. Always take it there.