There is nothing more that I enjoy than attending a good twenty-first. Having been invited to four that all took place over the course of the weekend, I don’t know what I am going to do with myself when they’re all over. As the year rolls on, they seem to keep getting better and better. I’ve only been to one that I thought really wasn’t much to rave home about, and we didn’t stay along after a fellow party guest hurled abuse at the entourage I arrived with. That loon bag aside, there is just something unique about a twenty-first celebration.
Unlike your 18th where you invited as many people as you could and consumed your body weight in punch, as you hadn’t quite found an appreciation for beer nor could you stomach wine that came from a box (and probably still cant) – they posses a different atmosphere.
While these times were memorable, the 21st seem to be more intimate, shared with closer friends. Don’t get me wrong, alcohol still plays a large part in the festivities. I read on facebook this morning that the following was consumed at a twenty first - 180 bottles of beers, 50 bottles of wine - 60 bottles champagne, plus slushy machines with 4 litres of vodka in them, plus the old contreau /stawberry liquer/sparking wine/based punch - refilled 12 times! Then of course you could be ‘treated’ to a yard glass.
Whether it has been spent getting blotto in rotto, an afternoon fiesta up in the hills, a space themed party or soiree at a trendy bar – the 21st in my opinion symbolises the anniversary in which a person becomes an adult, plus you’re ability to drink legally any where in the world. I know that some pessimists don’t see the point in celebrating them, given that the legal drinking age is 18 in Australia, but I think its fairly safe to say that by 21 we’ve learnt a few things along the way.
But what really epitomises the celebration is the speeches. How often are you given the opportunity to hear your parents stand up in front of a crowd and admit that you have defied the odds and have become a reasonable human being and then give the floor to you’re closest mates to share some funny/embarrassing tales that may cause the older generation to cringe. It’s just a shame we don’t take more opportunities to tell our mates how much we admire their achievements and talents, but more so how much we value their friendship.
While yes I admit attending three over the weekend plagued me with zestful hang over’s that packed a punch and didn’t do much for my bank balance, I’m saddened that we don’t have many left to go. I suppose once the year is out, we’ll just have to play the waiting game for the big three zero to roll around. And after that I don’t even want to think about . . .the eulogy probably (only kidding).
Until the next ramble, bye for now
Cuttsy
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