Tag: party

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New Year’s Eve – Guest Writer

Written by the Site Editor 

It is always bizarre to be a teenager and celebrate New Year’s with family. There is the sense that some massive party is being missed – when usually, my friends and I were far too disorganised to organise anything. So I created a system; one year with family, one year with friends. My family have never celebrated New Year’s to much extravagance in my memory – although apparently there was a good ‘end-of-the-world’ party at the turn of the century. One year, we were skiing in Austria and my parents, my sister and I were far too tired to make it to midnight, and decided to celebrate ‘Ugandan New Year’s Eve’, as it was several hours ahead and allowed for a 10pm bedtime.

For the winter of 2015, this was not the case. The plan was to celebrate up in Gruyeres, the small medieval town in Switzerland that bizarrely hosts a horror art museum attributed to the designer of Alien, H. R. Giger. We even invited some friends we had known in Uganda to join us.

We expected there to be some fanfare. But at 8 o’clock when we had gone to dinner, nothing had yet been made evident. It turned out that one of our friends, the father of the family we had invited along with us, is not an evening person. As we tried to coax him into playing games, he grew evermore disinterested. To the extent that winning and losing were met with the same ‘Oh, that’s interesting’ comment. We were far too amused by his reluctant attempt to stay up until midnight to realise that nothing had happened in the village. My sister was head down on the table feeling ill with a condition that we later diagnosed as chickenpox at the age of 14 (I contracted it 2 weeks later at 17). Perhaps it was epitomising Swiss-ness, and a rowdy party was not an option for such a sleepy, usually tourist-filled village.

However, at 11.50pm, something happened. A group of about 10 or 15 people bundled into the central square with a massive speaker. They started pouring drinks, chatting and laughing. The speaker blared out ABBA, Queen and various classic songs that everyone can sing to, be they English, French or German speaking. And for 15 minutes, we laughed and drank together to welcome the new year.

By 00.10, they had cleared out. Obviously, it would not do to have a rowdy event in the town square endure for too long and upset the neighbours. They cleared themselves away, took the speaker and all the plastic cups from their champagne, and bid us good night. We were stunned, as they erased any sign of having been there at all. We walked up to the top of the village to spot fireworks being set off in far away villages and mountain chalet towns. We welcomed 2016 in the tranquillity of a Swiss village – the year that followed was anything but tranquil.

We wish you all the best for the New Year’s, and thank you as ever for your support. Please forward Words for the Weary to anyone who you feel needs a story every week! 

 

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Dress Up

News flash: This week marks the one year anniversary of Words for the Weary. Thanks to everyone for reading these stories. I hope you enjoy doing so as much as I enjoy writing them. My thanks also to the intrepid blog curator for her weekly edit and story upload.  Let’s try to keep this going for another year if we can!

Sometimes, on very special occasions, a man just needs to wear a dress, dammit.

One such occasion was shortly after university for a theme party we christened Bridesmaid Revisited. The objective was to dig out old, often ugly, bridesmaid dresses mouldering in the closet and wear them for the party. How often do bridal party members get the chance to re-wear the dress they spent hundreds of dollars on?

The hitch was that everyone at the party was expected to wear such a dress. So that afternoon a number of us guys went down to the thrift store to see what we could find. I scored a big formal number in retina-searing yellow with pleats, an open back, and a huge silk flower affixed to the shoulder. I pity the poor woman who originally elected (or was obliged) to wear this dress. I sought to do it justice in her honour.

The party was a hit. Of the 70+ people there, only one was not in a dress. And he had chosen to attend dressed as a weedy wedding photographer. By midnight most of the party was sitting in the big kiddy wading pool at the municipal park across the street.  A neighbour called the cops. When the police arrived, they just stood there chuckling in disbelief. We got our picture with them before peacefully dispersing.  Thankfully this was in the days before social media.

Another occasion calling for formal dress wear was a wedding shower hosted for my soon-to-be-wife by friends of my mother. My wife was a bit nervous, since she did not know these women all too well. But being a good sport, off she went to the event with mom.

To ease her nerves (and without telling her of course), I suggested to my dad and brother that we follow them there and crash the shower dressed as uninvited lady guests. Of course they readily agreed. We dug out horrendous old dresses from the family costume box. We weren’t too convincing, since at the time dad and I both had beards and my brother’s legs rivalled those of a lesser primate. Still, one does what one can.

We drove to the shower, babbling nervously in our frocks. We stopped at a traffic light. A pick-up truck rolled up in the lane beside us. Behind the wheel sat the Chairman of the university department where my father was a professor. He glanced down into our car. He did a double take. His eyes widened, locked with those of my father in his frilly green dress. Time stood still. The light changed and, as we drove away, dad gave his Chairman a coquettish smile and wave. Then he turned to us and said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got tenure.”