I like Friday night.
Friday night is more ragtag than Saturday, more slapdash and more honkytonk.
Saturday night is planned, Friday is spontaneous.
On Friday, you’re a little ragged from the week. Even if you don’t work a “regular” 9-to-5, M-F week, it still feels different. It’s the pace around you.
You’ve worked all week, waiting for the weekend. Friday is the time you can goof off and not feel guilty because there’s still the whole weekend ahead. You can be lazy and feel justified.
Or, if you decide to be productive, work late, do that laundry, run the vacuum, hit the dry cleaner and the grocery on the way home, then you can feel so much MORE virtuous, your tiresome chores done, or at least a real head start on them, and then you can REALLY let loose.
Saturday nights are different. Just as good, but different, more planned.
Saturday night is a wedding, Friday night is a hookup.
Saturday night is planned sex, Friday night is the sex you swore you weren’t going to have and then had anyway.
On Friday night, particularly on a pleasant Friday night in August, people are out on the porch, out in the yard, planning what needs to be done this weekend, maybe getting a jump on pouring that concrete walk, freshening a few flower beds that sun and summer have fried a bit.
Friday night is the night you show up a little damp and sweaty, because you didn’t have time to go home and shower after work.
Friday is more of a jeans night, while Saturday is a skirt night.
Friday your makeup is smudged, Saturday it’s carefully applied.
Friday night is margaritas and shots, Saturday night is wine and champagne.
I hope you have your perfect Friday night.