Day 18 (parties and why I hate them)

When I was young (this is probably age 5) (we only had parties with school friends on the 5, 10, 15 years) I had a birthday party. All my friends were invited and said they would come. On the day my best friend, Jenny Brown, did not turn up. She had said yes she would come, her mum sent back the RSVP, and so I waited the whole party for her, and she did not come. By the time everyone else was going home I was pretty upset, clinging to the clothes line and crying. It's the only birthday party with friends I remember, and the only part of the party that stays with me.

At school the next day she was cool as anything, as if, you know, it was no big deal she did not come, and eventually we were best friends again. We ended up going to high school together, still "best friends", but somewhere along the line I learned what friends of convenience were, and never again opened my heart to this girl. At a reunion a few years ago she was there. Still pretty, still petite, still the centre of an adoring group of best friends, but time had done its work finally, and I realised just how she was not even my friendat all. I was saved.

It really helped that somewhere along the line I picked up Mary and her family as friends. She was not cool, she was one of seven children (somewhere in the middle), gorgeously voluptuous, I was dead skinny, brunette like me, with freckles, also like me. Together in 1st form (year seven) we gathered a group of odd one's out around us, and we were pretty much together as best friends for years, even long after school finished, we would phone one another, and when one of us got a car, still hang out some weekends together.

Mary and the gang helped me move on and I learned about "real" friends.


Anyhow, back to parties, its a big one this year, and my mum (and sisters) want to bully me into having a party. My kids don't know why I don't want one, but they backed me enough to let me know that Grannie was going to do something, so I attacked from the outset.

There is now going to be the kind of "party" I like, where I cook for the families and everyone sits around and struggles with (slightly older and more easily bored) offspring, eating, drinking soft stuff and generally just hanging out. Mum keeps saying it's a lot of work, but seriously, I was born to cook. I'm not particularly great at it or anything, but I have planned to roast a couple of legs of lamb (yes there are that many of us), cook creamy potatoes in foil baking dishes that can be just thrown away, and then probably a kilo or so of peas, fresh corn, gravy, it's so what I love to do, feed people. Mum is all thingy about it, but hey it's my party, and if I have to have one I'm so doing it my way.

There will be ice cream, tiramisu, fruit for dessert.
There will be bread to mop up gravy, soft drinks, and maybe bubbles, because I like it, not because it's someone else's idea of how to have a party.

Any my kids and their friends, ex and me will be having lunch on the terrace at Ventunos at Wharf 7 the week before (which co-incidentially is my 29th wedding anniversary). Since I will be travelling into the city by train, this also might be an occasion for some (lots) of bubbles. Also the new menu starts tomorrow, and I have had a sneak preview since David brought it home for me to check out, yummmm!

but just don't mention "parties", say celebrations, get togethers, or dinner-parties (yes in my world it's one word) cause in my head they spell out betrayal and casual indifference, and I have no place in my world for such.

Labels: blogtober

posted by gemma @ 5:09 pm