Oh yeah, Sunday
tapeworm signs in cats
The final day of the week.
The day that you can stay in bed as long as you please.
The day that you can dump the kids in front of the TV and leave them there for hours.
The day that you can eat a heart-attack-inducing breakfast, safe in the knowledge that you won’t be doing anything too strenuous.
The day that you can mosey up to the shop in your pyjamas, buy 4 newspapers then go home and fall asleep on the sofa after reading just 3 articles.
The day that your family invite you round for dinner, meaning no cooking or cleaning for you.
The day that you can slip up to the pub for 4-5 pints in the afternoon, without reprimand.
The day that you can…
Hang on a sec, it’s Monday isn’t it…?
Fuck. Fuck. Bollocks. Fuck.
I’m late for work…
June 30th, 2008 at 9:02 pm
I’m one of the poor bolloxes that has to put up with you weekend people who have nothing better to do with their weekend than sit in the pub or go to a restaurant and do nothing but complain that we don’t do chicken nuggets for the kids or have the Sunday World instead of the Times.
And why is it my fault that your snot nosed little shit of a kid got scalded with the hot coffee that we warned you about 6 times while you called out to said little shit with the immortal words: “Come sit by daddy please, don’t pull the waitresses apron like that.”
I’m glad you were late for work, I get to lie in every Monday, today I decided to move my arse at about 12. Good times.
(Sorry about that, but I feel better now!)
June 30th, 2008 at 10:30 pm
You scald kids in your restaurant?
Like, for free?