Weekend Lover

FOREWORD Weekend Lover There are seven days in a week. For the working man in “Weekend Lover,” five of them belong to somebody else. The alarm clock owns the mornings. The job owns the days. Work, eat, sleep and repeat—and then do it all over again. But somewhere beyond Monday morning waits Friday night. And waiting beyond Friday is the reason he puts up with all the rest. His Weekend Lover. Weekend Lover is a playful adult love song about a man measuring his week not by the hours he works, but by how many remain before he can once again hold the woman who makes all that work worthwhile. Even the days of the week become part of the joke. Monday isn't a fun day. There is “no two in Tuesday.” Wednesday becomes a “no playday,” and by Thursday the poor fellow is issuing his own romantic Mayday. Then Friday arrives. Friday is his Hayday. Saturday is his Joy day. And with the wonderfully unapologetic declaration— “WHEN I GET LAID!” —we discover that this isn't a fellow interested in disguising what he's been thinking about all week. Yet underneath the humor and sexuality is a truth familiar to generations of working people: Time is precious precisely because so much of it isn't ours to keep. That is what gives the Bridge its importance: “Five days of living just to earn two, A working man's math that somehow adds up true.” Mathematically, it's a terrible bargain. Emotionally, he understands it perfectly. Those five days provide a living, but the weekend reminds him why he is living. His reward isn't simply escaping work. It is affection, companionship, anticipation, intimacy, laughter, and the physical joy of being reunited with the person he desires. Sunday inevitably comes, and with it the realization that “all good things must come to an end.” But the song immediately turns even that disappointment around: “In order to begin again!” And so the cycle starts over. Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Monday becomes Tuesday. Tuesday becomes Wednesday. Wednesday becomes Thursday. And somewhere inside that routine is a man quietly counting the hours until the working week finally releases him and Friday night opens the door. Because sometimes heaven isn't somewhere beyond the clouds. Sometimes heaven begins at quitting time. Sometimes it lasts until Sunday. And sometimes it is waiting with open arms for a tired working man who has spent five long days thinking about— his Weekend Lover. — Irvin McWhorter Songwriter & Virtual Artist