The Sunday Recipe

Is there a perfect recipe for a perfect sunday?

Is it a simple scoop of do-nothing-for-hours + two whole cups of slumber?

Is it four tablespoons of catching up +

Laughter added to your own measure?

Is it a slightly elaborate dish,

With half a cup of silliness

Mixed with two teaspoons of family time

Resting in a bowl of your favourite movie,

Slowly added to a mixture of to-do lists,

Simmering for 2 hours in leftover errands?

Is it a recipe of goodness, packed with

Long mornings, breakfast for dinner,

Tea at odd hours, and legs up for hours

On your couch, doing nothing.

Or perhaps reading?

Is it a recipe that involves long walks

With a friend

And oodles of conversations and day dreaming?

Does it have a secret ingredient that masks

The utter disgust of a new week?

Will this recipe allow me the joy of

Making it, week on week,

Instead of dreading the lull it otherwise has hidden

In its layers?

But I pause to ask myself,

Why is this perfect recipe for a

Perfect sunday as important as

The right amount of salt to a curry?

Why can I not just eyeball it?

Like I do with my infrequent cooking.

Is my expectation of perfection

Reducing the flavours?

But if at all there does exist an

Ideal Sunday Recipe,

I hope it’s a happy one,

With cups full of humor and

long, long mornings

Filled with nothing-to-dos, wrapped in

The tunes of my morning playlist,

The sun pouring in and my tea sitting idle.

And before I know it, alas, I have to do my laundry.