And now I’m going to be 50.
I’m having a small party, but I have to admit, my heart just isn’t in it. The Squeeze pushed me to have something (if not, he would get the blame for me not having a party!) but it just seemed like too much drama and too much money really. I agreed, mainly because people kept asking what I was doing. Hell, I didn’t want to appear so ‘unloved’ that I’d sit at home on my 50th birthday because I couldn’t find anyone to party with!
There are a thousand restaurants in Oakleigh. The ones I liked didn’t have a separate room to accommodate thirty or so (not to mention the Squeeze turning pale at the cost). The ones that could fit them, I didn’t like as much. Seems like just a few too many people to squash into home (not to mention the work involved) and not enough people to hire a hall.
My guest list is obviously the hellish number for party planners. Then I ran out of time. So we are having it at home. Great…
My suggestion for getting it catered for caused a ‘Squeeze adverse reaction’. When I told him the cost of the alcohol, his hair turned a shade grayer. He’ll have a conniption when we do the food shopping, I’m sure. I haven’t even started on decorations…
Every suggestion has been “too expensive” and his return volley of a suggestion is equivalent to me suggesting a case of Moet for each person and he suggesting a bottle of cranberry juice and a bag of crisps!
And every so often, I remember the pictures of the Harridan’s 50th. A smiling Squeeze in various shots with groups of people. Big hall; drinks flowing; speeches. They had all the peripherals that make up a great party – even down to the Highland frigging dancers.
And I’m supposed to have a bottle of cranberry juice and a bag of crisps..?