The best day of the month May be the 31st day.

Like an extra day.

A little reprieve … a staying of the sentence turning the sweet calendar kitten’s or pinup babe’s face towards the wall or ripping off another significant chunk of weeks completely.

A day when no bills are regularly due, but you might get a check in the mail or some surprise deposit directly from who-knows-where.

Thirty days hath September … April, May, and November. The rest* I can’t remember; I’m not even sure I got that much right. Obviously May can’t be correct. Is it supposed to be March?

I have a vision of the 31st of May. December. January. Whichever ones apply; this must all be clarified. If I’m ever going to arrive at having perfect extra days at the end of however-many months a year. You have to know what you want, and I want a private deathly party at the golden hour that is all of them. What does that look like? How does it taste? And whatever will I wear?

For tomorrow I just don’t know, except it is the first Friday of the next four months that I am scheduled to be able to count on. Or actually it is the last Friday before those four months start, so maybe I should really 31st it up. Especially since the moon will still be in Pisces until well into the evening.

*Leap Year Poem

Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February alone,
And that has twenty-eight days clear
And twenty-nine in each leap year.

from Mother Goose courtesty of poets.org

I love how it doesn’t spell out the days with thirty-one. Like they’re the most exclusive months by virtue of being unspecified. If you don’t know or aren’t willing to look up the address, then you’re not invited.

There are seven of them, making the 31st extra lucky: January, March, May, July, August, October, December.

I’m glad there are still three more to come this year after tomorrow.