My gorgeous stepson, Luke, who is like my own son, was about to celebrate his 21st birthday. His beautiful mother, Roz Roy, who passed away four years ago, would be immensely proud of him. Being Rick’s first wife and me being the third, made for an uncomplicated friendship.
Party planning is never easy, let alone when the centre of attention is an uber chic 21 year old who knows what he doesn’t want or at least, doesn’t acknowledge what I want. For example:
I say fancy dress, he says black tie.
I say enchanted garden, he says why?!
I accept that with his crazy bunch of friends fancy dress could go sideways (if not pear-shaped), so I agree that his mates can come in black tie.
The original theme was Bonfire of the Vanities. Rick pointed out, sensibly I should say, that sixty 21-year-olds running around fire pits with espresso martinis may not be the wisest idea.
To put it mildly, Luke wasn’t terribly happy and started to stress…so I fired him from the planning committee for being a party pooper.
This decision was taken after seeking advice from a doctor who treats Stepmother Syndrome. (You think I’m joking?). Up to this point I was totally preoccupied until we got to finalising the guest list. That’s when the prospect of Gina joining the party hit me between the eyes. Having lunch with Gina is like lunching with Darth Vader in the Death Star canteen. How much worse could it be at a 21st?
Gina and I struggled to resolve our issues. I tried to rise above a tsunami of insults that she heaped on me about my weight and mental health. In the end, I gave her two invites to Luke’s 21st – as a gesture of goodwill. I accept that Gina is part of Luke’s adolescence, so I wanted her to be there. If Venus is her dearest friend, then it’s only right she’s by her side.
The party was pumping by the time they arrived. They looked amazing. I felt a twang of guilt for being a shit stirrer until Venus passed me a box and then a condescending speech about Persian culture. I was convinced there was some hidden meaning lurking inside the gift, but I’m a cynic about most things Venus does. I would have returned the gesture with a Chiko Roll Invented by an Australian in 1951 to look like an oversized spring roll but I suspect Venus is as Australian as I am. I’m convinced her exotic looks have more to do with surgery than genes.
Notwithstanding the attempt to hijack my queen of the fairies title, the day after Luke’s party was the happiest of my adult life! He was happy and that is all that really mattered.