(Note how I disassociate myself from writing that line. )
I don't know yet what my party plan this year is, other than to be the arm candy, but surely I'll have a drink or two, and blog about it. Happy New Year, loyalists!
And so, to keep my hastily-spoken word, I should tell you I went to a party. (With a bottle of vodka, four boys and the guilt of bad-etiquette, because who does that, right? -- go to a party with three uninvited people. Boy plus I were on the guest list, but Boy's friends who had nowhere else to go, were not. I checked with the host, and of course he said yea yea no worries, but still.)
It was nice enough. There was a bonfire, champagne at midnight, people I knew, a very fat Labrador, and at least the five of us had eaten by the time we arrived at the house of the host. Like I said, nice enough. There are smoky pictures of people in woollies holding white disposable glasses.
And then there are pictures of birthdays, lots of birthdays.
January messes me up nice and proper. With one birthday after the next, the pressure to get presents is suffocating!
The day before yesterday was my boyfriend's birthday.
Eleven days ago, it was my mother's birthday.
Twelve days ago, it was my best friend's birthday.
The birthdays of my first cousin twins is today.
And then there are those whom you have to wish and hug and kiss and gift-wrap things for, because there is a rapport and expectations are attached. Altogether very draining.
For the entire last week and more, my head has been in a tizz over what to get for lover boy. For an agonising while, I made zero progress! Then I got him a book on jazz that he seems to like very much. I hid it under his quilt so he would find it only last thing at night, after his party. There was also a sweet card with the book, in a fancy black and pink Made in China bag with black and pink hearts on it. I'm thinking of asking for it back so I can maybe keep some of my junk in it. I tell myself heart-motifs should embarrass any guy and he will want to get rid of it. Ha.
That cheapness apart, for his party, I got the birthday planner chaps to do up his house with lots of balloons. Five hundred balloons. Three hundred helium filled. Half blue. Half white, with dangling silver thread. He seemed stunned. I was amused. The cranky mood dissolved. Desired affect achieved. And as far as I'm concerned, huge sigh of relief. Also helps that his dog went berserk jumping all around, getting increasingly excited with every phat sound. And anyway, once you have the dog's approval, the game is won. Remember this, girlfriends of boys who obsess about their mutts.
In other news, Happy Republic Day. You're lucky to not be at work.