DO NOT PUT ME IN CHARGE OF YOUR CHILDREN
Bank holiday weekends have never been very good for me. I hear “3-day-weekend” and I immediately think “72-hours-of-anything-but-sobriety”. However, being asked to chaperone a sweet sixteenth, combined the small matter of having life defining exams fast approaching, I thought this weekend would be different. I was wrong.
Chaperone my foot. I was a hotter mess than anyone at the party (besides Katerina, perhaps, but she was also a ‘chaperone’). Between dancing on countertops, rummaging around hidden cellars for wine (that was non-existent) and reminding anyone that would listen that I was legal to drink, vote and gamble whilst they are not, I think it’s fair to say I was far from helpful. I blame the nostalgia. And the fact that I drunk my bodyweight in alcohol. Still, gotta be one of the best parties in a while. Filled with funny anecdotes for future girls nights.
And now, here I am. Watching films and blogging like I don’t have two essays due in tomorrow. Lord help me.
