And then, it was Saturday, that merry day where all/both of the little blogger girls readers were out merrily frolicking with family and friends or lying in front of the television with American junk pouring into their eyes, ears and mouths like coke spray after a Mento.
What with all the excitement of the Saturday having arrived, the little blogger girl knew that people would be too busy to read her blog post and so she could write anything here with no consequences. During the week all/both the readers were desperately seeking solace from their jobs via the medium of internet distractions. Today, they had lives.
The little blogger girl felt alternately powerful and scared. With Saturday having arrived she could write anything, ANYTHING. She could write about farting in the bath, which, even with the recent venture in 27 year olding, she still confessed shyly was her favourite past time. She could write about Beowulf and how Judaism has lasted longer than anyone thought, eh? But she knew nothing, absolutely NOTHING about either of those subjects. She could write about diet tips or naked ladies and free iPads and watch a cascade of Twitter bots come to keep her company in the black out that was the Saturday. But she didn't want to write about any of those things.
Sadly, the little blogger girl looked out of the window as the train carted her towards Brighton and home. No one would be home for the little blogger girl to share her Saturday with. The freedom of a free blog post and a free house was too much for the little blogger girl and she began to cry. With no one to read, and no one to greet her at the front door... what was the point of it even being Saturday? It might as well be Monday.
IT MIGHT AS WELL BE MONDAY! She screamed into the confused and fashionably misguided carriage of Brighton daytrippers.
But then, as the 14th Saturday tear dripped down her cheek, she realised something... there may not be anyone around to share the beauty of Saturday with... but that shouldn't stop her. So what if she didn't even have a bath to fart in when she reached her house? There was a washing up bowl wasn't there? And dang it if the little blogger girl wasn't perfectly comfortable squatting over a filled up washing up bowl to get her kicks while the sun shone.
And who cares if no one was around to read the blog post? Quite frankly with the quality being as it is in this current edit, that can only be a good thing. The little blogger girl smiled, realising that so long as she had Fairy Liquid, a washing up bowl and access to a keyboard then the world was a good place.