Sunday

Sunday slept in. When she finally woke she had her tea and read the paper. After she'd put on her dress, hat, and shoes, she touched up her lipstick and perfume. Sunday always smelled faintly of lavender. She drove to church.

Sunday had always gone to church. It's what her family always did, and it's what she still did. She wasn't sure why sometimes. It was familiar, comfortable. Then there were those moments of joy when she felt loved. She felt this was important. 

Sunday enjoyed lunch with friends after church, but sometimes she wanted to be by herself. She'd run errands, or go home and read. She'd crochet until she threw the hook and yarn down in frustration. She'd plan the week's menu then throw it out and start again. She'd do laundry then not fold it. She'd dread Monday, but she knew that if she didn't face Monday she couldn't be Sunday again.