Let Them Eat Cake

Yes, I know...what about the bloody book? Yes, well, this time the distraction is brutal: It's about 21st birthdays...
Specifically, do they really matter? Really? Who cares about piss-ups that celebrate a long gone cultural artefact? Coming of age these days means fake ID success, HSC and schoolies. 21? Who cares? Get a job.

I should be writing about other stuff, I spose, but this 21st thing niggles. And, having survived a 21st recently, I've decided that yes, it mattered and yes, I'd pen a few lines about it.

Siblings bonding with father at the grog shop the weekend before; mother-child bonding in the café where we decided on the menu. And on the night, in the kitchen with extended family, nowhere near the tent that contained mayhem and mischief; and afterwards, when we ate chocolate cake and sipped tea as we chatted with leftover souls who knocked back the offer of a bus trip or were staying the night.

I crawled back into civilization via an intense clean up to reflect, and I would now like to give thanks for the following, in important order:-

-The bus driver who came an hour early and waited patiently to transport ninety noisy partygoers to somewhere far away from my home

-My 86 year old dad, who stayed late and chatted (regardless of deafness) with many "youngies", though his “by their age I was commanding a platoon” comment floored me

-The friendliness and manners of the pretties who came adorned with huge smiles, though the taratula legs on frightening display via thirty centimetre stilettos and scary handkerchief-size "dresses" was scary

-The friendliness and bluster of the boys in skinny jeans and skinny shirts with skinny ties who shook my hand too hard, kissed my cheek and over and over again pronounced how much they loved the party, the birthday boy and his entire family, and life in general. Um, what’s with skinny?

-The neighbours who went out to late dinner and made no comments about the din

-Our friends who wouldn’t have missed the chance to be there

-The recovery the next day, with the family and a few dishevelled extras, laughing at photos and eating ham on toast

-And finally, the hard earned dollars that allowed the outsourcing of most of the work, so we could concentrate on worrying about the content of the speeches

It must be said, though, that there's a bit to worry and wonder about when it comes to 21sts: speeches which must simultaneously not offend grandparents and other civil souls and must trash the host's reputation, or apparently they become unworthy of being listened to; the number of beer bottles that littered the garden afterwards; and the fact that 'fun' these days continues, literally, all night.

Yep: there’s much that can be said about a 21st birthday, but please note the abovementioned, prioritised points of happiness: you've got to love the bus driver.