Today was President’s Day. But, what’s President’s Day, really? It’s just the day the country observes the birthdays of a bunch of presidents.
President’s Day is like imitation vanilla extract. It’s still good, but it leaves you with that slight “I didn’t get the real thing” feeling.
I occasionally purchase imitation vanilla, but it kind of weirds me out. I also occasionally observe President’s Day. Just not this year.
This year I’m opting for the real thing. I worked on President’s Day, and I’m taking Washington’s birthday off. I don’t even take my own birthday off work. (George — you should feel pretty special.)
I’m not really sure how one properly celebrates George Washington’s birthday. I have one piece of my mom’s frozen “salad” (see earlier post on said “salad”) left. It has cherries in it, so it seems George Washington-esque.
I also plan to attend a morning kickboxing class. I’d like to figure out a way to compare kickboxing to crossing the Delaware, but I can’t.
My afternoon may include working on my wooden door that is (slowly) turning into a headboard (maybe). George Washington had wooden teeth. I have a wooden door. The similarities are uncanny.
I declare tomorrow to be “The Day of George.” There will be cherries, a wooden door, and no lies. And I’ll put pure vanilla extract in my morning oats. None of that imitation crap.