His One Weekness

“Do you know anything about Monday?” was all the email said.

Saturday started drafting a reply: “probably Sunday”

As the rideshare pulled up to her condo, she noticed a white cargo van parked in her driveway.

She removed the “probably” and hit send.

“How did I beat you here?” Sunday asked as Saturday got out.

“I went to breakfast. Why the hell did you bring Monday here?”

“I need you to watch him.”

“Watch him? What did you do to him?”

“I shut off his alarms. It’s his kryptonite–or whatever pretentious thing you want to call it.”

Saturday could barely see Monday’s motionless body through the tinted window. “Won’t he wake up on his own?”

Sunday glanced into the van. “No earlier than eleven.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll owe you one.”

Saturday carefully considered her plans for the rest of the day. “Fine.”

“Good. Help me get him inside.”

Ding. New email. “Hold on, I need to deal with something,” she said and stepped away.

“No, Friday. He won’t trade Monday for you. That’s not how it works.” Send.

Monday limply crumpled onto the ground from the van’s back door.

“Woops,” Sunday said. “Is that Friday you’re messaging?”

“He keeps emailing me about Monday.”

“Email? Who emails people for non business stuff?”

“Weekdays,” she said and scoffed.

“Gosh, he’s a poser. You want legs or feet?”