It’s Presidents Day here in the United States, a day when we all good patriotic US citizens take a moment to celebrate, um, something. Possibly related to the office of the President? I think maybe it’s the day the current Chief Executive comes out of the Oval Office and orders another six weeks of winter and Bonus! unlawful NSA surveillance based on whether or not his Secret Service guys cast shadows?
Okay, so maybe not. The truth, though, is actually even stranger. Most elementary school kids will likely tell you that Presidents’ Day is intended to honor the birthdays of George Washington and (potentially also) Abraham Lincoln. At least, that’s true here in the Midwest. But that’s hardly universal. The part about Washington is universal, but kind of messed up in that George Washington’s birthday actually falls on February 22nd, and yet the holiday always falls between February 15th and 21. That’s right, it means the holiday never lands exactly on our first President’s actual birthday.
But, hey, does that really matter as much as getting a three-day weekend?
When you get right down to it, there’s a lot that’s strange and confusing about this particular Federal and/or State holiday.
In other words, there’s exactly zero consensus about what it is we are supposed to honor today in our thoughts and deeds. As a result, those of you with employed in government, bank, or/and education jobs get to do what my kids are doing today: trying to look busy so no one will make them clean the house. Also, probably binge-watching the new season of House of Cards of Netflix.
Well, I mean, not my kids. House of Cards might be a little inappropriate yet.
The rest of us, of course, are doing what we normal do on Mondays. We’re filling out our TPS reports and trying to avoid picking up that inevitable case of the Mondays from the morale contagion that runs rampant at the coffee station and water cooler.
Damn. Now I want some pizza shooters. Or shrimp poppers. Or Extreme! Fajitas!
At any rate, with all of us scratching our respective heads over the true meaning of Presidents’ Day, I’d say this is a good time to point out the one thing I’m pretty sure we can all agree on when it comes to the third Monday of February. That is, that of the 365 days making up one spin of our little planet around the sun, today is THE day to buy a mattress.
For the life of me, I’ll admit, I can’t come up with any sort of reasonable explanation why Presidents’ Day is the rallying point for our nation’s long quest to find the perfect, cozy sleeping platform. I mean, was there once some secret backroom brimming with cigar smoke and inky shadows where old men seated around a large table determined that February is a Good Month for mattresses? Are these the same men that decided, based on anecdotal evidence and the kind of gut feelings that tell you that Tuesday is good for tacos, but never, ever Wednesday, that Memorial Day was THE day to have that Annual White Sale Blowout*.
I don’t know. But I do know that I’m still not ready to commit to a new mattress yet. Also, that when I was a boy, we never actually got Presidents’ Day off because Every. Single. Year. we had to use it to make up for snow days.
In summary, Presidents’ Day: No one really gets it, but won’t talk about it either because some of you get the day off and, like a kid at bedtime, you figuring that by staying quiet and out of the way maybe the adults won’t notice. Also, I can be old and curmudgeonly about just about anything.
Which, of course, is all my long-winded way of saying that I wish I had today off work too, because who doesn’t want to be home binge-watching House of Cards?
Oh well, the Puddinette probably would have just made me clean, anyway.
Happy Presidents’ Day, US residents, however you choose to recognize it.
Personally, I recommend the sleep number model with the memory foam.
Pud’n
*I might have just made this up
Puddintopia 