Sunday funday

 Born slipping.

Wasn't long before I was introduced

To the dark and long, 

Unfortunately weekends don't seem 

To last too long. 

Sunday, 

The smell of regret. 

Booze, feg smoke, 

Rave and sweat.

20 missed calls, 

11 texts. 

You're ma is raging, 

Your Sunday dinner's getting cold

And the gravy's been thrown out, 

As a sign of the parental upset.

Pale faced, 

Mouth dry. 

Unsure if to give in and admit all. 

Or give the dinner a try.