What day is it?

It was 6.00 on Sunday, and I lay in the deep pre-dawn dark organising my mind for the day. 

The path my mind was following was: Mick is coming at nine to build a wall for me.
I need to go shopping sometime this week. Maybe I’ll go after he’s left. Or maybe I’ll go tomorrow after Dave the gardener has left. 

Better not, it’ll be Tuesday, and market day, so heaving. No it won’t – Tuesday is market day in Albox, not Arboleas; as I’m not allowed to go to Albox it won’t matter.

Maybe I can hang the shopping over until the end of the week? I’ll have a look at the list. Better get up, else I won’t be organised when Mick gets here.

As I prised myself from my bed the awful truth dawned on me; today is Monday, and I had been invited to Margaret’s for a pizza on Sunday!

Oh no! I was really looking forward to my outing! Good company and a pizza, what more could a person ask? And I had simply not turned up! How rude!

Remorse propelled me to the laptop. I clicked a grovelling apology, asked humbly to be forgiven, and suggested tentatively that maybe if I were good I might get an invite another day?

The sun rose upon my chastened state. I was overcome by shame – which lasted until Margaret emailed to say – Pizza Day is Sunday. It’s Sunday today!
Oh. So it’s not Monday today then? Well, that’s all right then!

I wonder how far through Sunday I would have gone before realising that it’s not Monday?