of instructions for Saturday greatness
Hullo, there. So terribly sorry to intrude. I know you’re awfully cozy there on the couch in your weekend pants, nesting in a mound of unfolded laundry in a pancake coma.
But I just thought I’d, oh you know, barge in, stamp my foot, and demand that you claim your Saturday for greatness. Nothing too epic, now. No, no. I’m just charging you to go out into the world and treat the person you most adore to a cappuccino. And if you are really, really besotted, you might make it a flat white and a macaroon.