Today is Sunday.
“And now,” cried Max, “Let the wild rumpus start!” “Now stop!” Max said and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper. And Max, the King of All Wild Things, was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all. Then all around, from far away across the world, he smelled good things to eat, so he gave up being king of where the wild things are. But the wild things cried, “Oh, please don’t go! We’ll eat you up, we love you so!” And Max said, “No.” The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws, but Max stepped into his private boat and waved goodbye and sailed back, over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of his very own room, where he found his supper waiting for him and it was still hot.
