It's My Party & I'll Cry If I Want To

It's my birthday on Tuesday. MY birthday.

So, according to the "Friend's Guide to Social Etiquette"* my friends should be lavishing me with attention, gifts and alcohol at a party arranged by THEM this weekend.

But nooooo ... instead of spending my Saturday lounging around in my PJ's doing whatever the heck I like, when I like (the normal Saturday routine) I'm going to have to clean the apartment, prepare food and drink and actually brush my hair and look halfway presentable, because somehow, and I still have no clear recollection of how it came about (damn you Strawberry Daiquiries!), I am throwing a dinner party for THEM!!!!!

Quite frankly I'm starting to think that my friends don't fully appreciate me as much as they should:

Friend: So what time do you want us over there?

Me: I thought 8.30'ish

Friend: That's a bit late, we'll be there at 7pm

Me: *pouting* Oh alright

Friend: So what are you making for dinner?

Me: Macaroni cheese

Very long pause

Friend: Oh

Bloody ingrates! It's my birthday in 3 days! What did they expect? A 5 course meal? It's not like I'm not making an effort! I bought napkins! Real nice ones too, not the thin shiny ones that don't absorb anything but just smear stuff around! And It's not just PLAIN macaroni cheese! I'm gonna make a fresh breadcrumb, garlic and stilton topping AND it will be accompanied by warm, herby ciabatta bread plus a lamb's leaf and tomato salad! They should just be impressed and grateful that I'm not microwaving a bunch of frozen ready meals! Sheesh!

Anyway, I better go. I have a not-so-hot date with a vacuum cleaner and a can of polish.

All I can say is there had better be plenty of gifts! Big, expensive gifts.

Maybe I'll start on the wobbly-pop early.


*A work in progress