It’s My Son’s Party And I’ll Hide In My Bedroom If I Want To

I write this from my bedroom,
Safe under lock and key,
Sitting just feet away from,
My son’s birthday party.

And if there’s any doubt as to,
What trouble may await,
Allow me to take this moment,
As I elaborate.

For things are truly sinister,
Beneath all of this joy,
I could get smothered by the scent,
Of prepubescent boy.

Or maybe all is going well,
Until I hear a cry,
Cause it’s all fun and games until,
Someone loses an eye.

Or maybe one precocious boy,
Starts giving me some lip,
And while I am cutting the cake,
The knife suddenly slips.

And maybe his mother’s a bit
Too anal retentive,
As she gets upset over the fact,
I wasn’t more attentive.

Or perhaps it is this woman,
Deserving of abuse,
As she cheaped out on a gift card,
My son couldn’t even use.

Somehow I made it through the night,
And emerged in good graces,
By throwing cupcakes in their mouths,
And pizza in their faces.

But I did not a barter my soul,
No deals with the devil,
And though my son showed gratitude,
I deserved a medal!

Or maybe one of those dumb shirts,
For a night so gnarly,
Printed with the words “I survived…
My son’s 12th birthday party.”