Oh entertainment, entertainment, why hast thou treated me so? Why didst thou lead me to a roof-top rum party? Oh deceitful entertainment, thy promise of glamour and excitement I did trust. Yet thou took me to screaming people and toilets that refused to be flushed.
The woes I endured silently at that party, nobody will ever really know. Imagine after I got my first real look at what was happening on that roof I decided right then that it was a place where I wouldn’t consume alcohol. Me? Risk getting drunk? There? Never!
Now, before you go muttering about how I complain about everything, please do remember that I did promise to tell you about this party two weekends ago. Remember? When I was going on and on about creating a social life for myself. Don’t get me wrong, the whole night wasn’t a disaster. Well at least not for me.
If there were 20 people on that dance floor it was a lot. In fact, I was one of the first people to really get down to some serious dancing. I started out with two guys, ended up with one and lost the other one somewhere between it all. Talk about being a terrible friend. But is it my fault if my male friend – who I had no idea was banking on me as his date – ends up alone because I’ve found better male company?
By 11pm, the party still wasn’t swinging. I can’t remember if I was still glued to my younger date. Maybe I was. At midnight we were over in a corner talking and just as I was forgetting where I was, in came a loud surprise. A bunch of people decided to give us a show.
Before I tell you about this group I’ve got to mention that the DJ kept replaying a specific set of rum songs. You know the ones where the guys sing about rum being their lover and that the woman always knew they were a drinker?
So back to these people. They started to bump and grind in front us and every time a new song started the women began screaming. What the hell?
Of course, my cousins asked me if I was expecting them to behave like the queen of England. Well, pardon me. When I decided to have a social life I didn’t realize that it entails parties at which you’re required to be drunk and make a complete fool of yourself.
And to think I went through all the trouble of looking my best for that party. I don’t normally do dresses but I ended up in ‘de short black number’ for this party. I’ll bet none of the guys noticed. They were all too high!
Don’t worry; this is the last time you’ll hear me complain about dumb entertainment, drinking and drunk people. It took one terrible event for me to realize that partying isn’t going to be an option for me. At least not here.
I’ve been told that I attended the wrong party. I doubt that. Even if I’d been at the most elite location the standard would’ve been the same. The only difference would’ve been the price of the drinks. I guess I’ll have to stick with the National Cultural Centre, my pirated DVDs and the internet. Ah well. This is the cyber age after all.
Oh entertainment, entertainment, I bid thee farewell. No more roof-top rum parties for me, no way in hell!