So, I turned 28 this week. I thought I’d be OK with it, although I am positive that I now fall into the “late 20s” category now… which I’m not soooo OK with.
So, in an attempt to be the young and fabulous thing I know I’m meant to be, I decided to hold the year’s best fancy dress birthday party (a “P” party to be precise!). Now. I do great parties. It’s just what I do. But this year… well… it seemed like such an effort!
Don’t get me wrong I had a really great time, got drunk, fell down, etc etc, but by about 9pm I was rubbing my feet going “what fucking time is it?!”… sad I know!
Then this morning, upon receiving a multitude of phone calls and knocks on the door to pick up cars, clothes (costumes) etc, I found myself wanting to hide, rather than relive the previous evening’s events.
Now to top it all off, my favourite hangover combination of a good hot curry and a beer for dinner, has been ruined. Josh gallantly offered to run up the road for a good chicken tikka masala for me, and instead of going the tried and trusted route, opted to try somewhere new. AND IT WAS SHIIIIT.
So… I think next year I’ll skip the party, tell everyone I’m turning 30 instead of 29 and go to a health spa or something.