The birthday party:
Greetings to all of my mother Dearest’s loyal devotees. Here I write before you in all my glory (or lack there of as you shall find) with tales of life as an angsty teen.
Before I spill the beans of my many struggles of trying to get the hang of not really counting as a teen anymore, I want to warn that my stories aren’t really G rated. They will probably have some colourful language, kind of funky junk and possibly some mature material because as I said I’m not 16 anymore (legally I’m an adult but as anyone around me will tell u I’m not quite worthy of that title just yet). I’ll probably come up with a rating system for my following posts or just put a more specific lil blurb just so you can make ur own educated decision on if ur perspective of me is really worth the risk.
With all that said here is my first of many stories to come so buckle up and enjoy the ride. I think I’ll name this Entry One of My Series of Unfortunate Events.
So it was my friends 18th birthday party he had invited a handful of his “closest” buddies to one of those dinners with a million courses. With this dinner and it’s huge price tag, were complimentary alcoholic beverages with each dish. The deal was if u wanted drinks, you had to get ur parents to send a email to say you are allowed to drink because it’s ILLEGAL to drink under 18. For obvious reasons like youth + alcohol = stupid stupid bad juujuu. So I got mum to send an email cuz I’m a lil angel and I was 17.
A couple days later here we were at this dinner telling funny stories. HAH I fooled you before, I’m not actually as much of a saint as I lead you to believe, at this time I also had a fake ID so I could doodle around town with my buddies or go to parties prepped to make bad decisions. So here I was at dinner telling of one of my adventures in town when my mates dad interrupted me with a question
“-myname-, how old did you say you were?”
FARK
I panicked and looked at my friends for help and said
“18 of course”
he looked at me confused and asked why I had bothered to get my mum to send an email? As the conversation went on I got myself and my buddies trapped more and more into my lies. His father eventually said he was about to ask my mum.
FARKING FARK
so I quickly excused myself to text mummy dearest that I was a muppet and she had to go along with what ever my mates dad asked her. He didn’t even end up asking her so I had a heart attack for no reason.
By the end of the dinner me and my buddies didn’t realise how much wine we actually got given and were all tipsy and panicked because we didn’t intend to get drunk so we were all trying to pretend we were sober and mature. One of my mates mentioned that we should say thanks and I stupidly nominated myself but in my panic I ended up making one of the biggest regrets of my life:
Reached out my hand, took his fathers hand, gripped it tight, pulled him in, and patted him hard on the back… not once, oh no not twice, but three times.
After that I really wanted to curl up into a ball and die but hey, now I’m pretty sure he was just as drunk as we were and probably didn’t give a rats ass.
In saying that tho, I’ll probably forever be traumatised by degustations.