It was a warm bank holiday Monday. James smiled to himself as he leaned against the bus stop.

"I like Thursdays," he announced. Not because he thought it was Thursday, he thought it was Wednesday, he just liked Thursdays. A lot. He did not, however, like Wednesdays.

"I do not like Wednesdays," he cried, his smile fading. The harsh reality that all days beginning with the letter W were evil days hit him. Like a speeding bus. This simile reminded him that he was catching a bus.

"I am catching the bus," he announced to the world, much to the alarm of an elderly woman who was walking behind him.

She was alarmed for two reasons: 1. Because it was not usual to announce your every activity to the world and 2. Because it was a bank holiday Monday and the buses weren't running.

"Excuse me, young man," she said kindly.

James glared at her.

"It's bank holiday Monday," she continued. "Your bus is never coming."

"FUCK YOU!" he exclaimed, his magnificent fist smashing into her face. She fell to the floor. Fucking liar. He knew what day it was. It was Wednesday.

"I am bothered!" he announced, referring to the pain that was now throbbing in his right fist.

The old lady remained on the floor. She did not announce this, however, because she was unconscious. Or possibly dead. James did not care to find out. He only knew that her lack of announcing meant that something was terribly wrong.

(Twelve Hours Later)

James limped into the house and plopped his limping limp form into the limp sofa his wife was already seated in.

"James, where have you been?" she asked.

"I was catching the bus."

"But it's a bank holiday Monday! The buses don't run on bank holidays."

James Potter was angry. "Don't lie to me, woman. Women don't know more than men. That would be absurd. Woman begins with a W. W's are evil. Like Wormtail, my beloved and eternally trustworthy bestest best friend."

Lily remained silent. Her rightly place was in silence. It suited her fine. She liked the weather.

"Now, make me a sandwich."

Lily made him a sandwich. It had no mustard. She put mustard on it. This was not good enough. She made another sandwich for him.

"Merlin!" he cried, finally holding the long-awaited sandwich. "I have had such a stressful day! This morning I tried to catch a bus which never came, and now my wife cannot make me a sandwich in a timely manner."

"Oh, fuck off!" snapped Lily, returning from silent as it had started to rain there.

"Do not smite me with your words!" cried James, livid. "I am livid!"

Lily rolled her eyes at her husband's total stupidity and went to go cry over her wedding dress.

James was alone.

"I am alone," he announced.

Just then, the cat entered.

"What is it you want, cat? Why do you insist on encroaching upon my solitude?"

The cat did not reply because it was a fucking cat.

James stared at the cat. The cat stared back.

"Why must you taunt me with your lack of replies?"

The cat did not reply because it was still a fucking cat.

Then the cat jumped up, knocking James' long-awaited sandwich from his strong, manly, handsome, large, calloused, impressive, god-like hands.

"Curse you!" he bellowed at the cat. "If I wasn't seventy percent sure you were male, I'd punch you right in the face."