My twenty-first birthday is coming up, and, courtesy my parents, my sister (who turns sixteen at the same time) and I are having a mid-sized party at a hotel. So it's all been pretty easy until now, when we have to deal with invitations. Because we're having a slightly fancy party, we're sending out proper invitations, which I don't think I've done since the good old primary school days when it was socially acceptable to enjoy playing Pass-the-Parcel. I went to scope out the newsagencies but didn't like any of what I saw, except for two hilarious kid's ones: pink Disney princesses and *macho American voice* ACTION MEN!!! Well, I was eventually outvoted. No problem, says I, I'll just make my own. I know how to work the computers real good! Endless fiddlings later I arrive at a serviceable design, which I wish I could say is ironically frilly, but unfortunately can't. It is vetted and passed, materials are exhaustively discussed, decided upon. It all looks quite promising. And then, at the last minute, a total lack of supplies at Officeworks throws us a bit of a poser. Now I'm assembling them (oh yes: they require assembly) and, considering the realities of production and my rather lame PSP skills, I have to say: that mass-produced uber-scrolly white-and-gold Hallmark crap would be an improvement. Dammit, if this were the movies, they would be endearingly heartfelt! But instead they're just ugleh.
That settles it. I am NEVER getting married.
That settles it. I am NEVER getting married.
