I'll Take The European Sojurn!

With my daily time wasting newspaper reading, I am often amused at what makes the headlines , or features.
So it was with some amusement that I read over the weekend that 21st  Birthdays now rival weddings in cost. Mmmm, now that's bizarre interesting.

Apparently one must spend at least 6 months organising such and book an expensive venue and wear a dress costing the equivalent of a brief European sojourn. Oh, and of course, the images of everyone having fun MUST be posted on to social networking sites the second they are taken so EVERYONE can see that they REALLY ARE HAVING FUN.

I vaguely remember my 21st with fond memories. We had it in my parent's backyard where the big thing was we hired a tarp and a wooden dance floor. Of course, the only concern here was that the backyard had a slight slope and after the mini cyclone that tore through the neighbourhood one hour before the guests were due to arrive, did mean that once the dancing started, most of the guests slipped down to the bottom end of the dance floor.

Apparently 21st's now are seen as some type of landmark (seriously, that is what Kat from Killara said - I thought a landmark was like the Harbour Bridge, or the Big Potato in Robbo) and it is where all the people who are important in their lives show up. Are you for real? That used to happen every Friday night when we would go to the pub - all the people important to my life were there.

Oh and of course, one SIMPLY MUST HAVE a designer frock (this may/may not include the boy's as well - wasn't specified) and this of course must cost the equivalent of a small car. Now I have clear memories (but unfortunately no photos to post here) of what I wore to my 21st! Picture this - weighing a significant amount less than my current fighting weight, I wore black! Now, I know that may not be a surprise to some of you but hear me out.

It wasn't just any old black number. It was a black off the shoulder wool jumper, with a silver sequinned snake across the neckline (which was off the shoulder but I don't know how to describe it any other way) - I KNOW, why I didn't go into fashion design I do not know. This was teamed with a long straight black wool skirt (can't remember the shoes!!!) and of course the obligatory fuchsia pink fake nails. Oh, ONE mustn't forget the afro perm that also featured heavily in my life at the time.   Yes, you got it, an absolute stunner. Oh, if only we had booked the professional photographer like they do nowadays. Instead, I think we had Uncle Trev taking the photos on the old box brownie.

Food - I hear you ask? Oh, none of this schmancy fancy nouvelle cuisine where the girls are so thin they just share a lettuce leaf between 6 of them. No sirreeee - we had the good old fashioned pig on a spit with Mum's obligatory coleslaw and Aunty Josie's potato salad.

Of course, I could go on and on regaling the tales of the night and talking about the family fight when my cousin arrived with his skanky girlfriend and upset one of my most favourite Uncles in the world, but what's the point (and I mean SKANKY!!!!!!!!).  Unfortunately, some of the fond memories have dimmed due to  the passing of time (not THAT long ago) and the copious bottles of Spumante that were drunk.

But one lasting memory is of Mum and her sister, the afore mentioned Aunty Josie, who after a few tipples, decided to join the dance floor in a  rousing edition of Aga Doo  (see link below for a reminder of this classic). Although somewhat amusing - what starts in a game ends in tears and I have a clear memory of them slipping down the wet not quite even dance floor and ending up on their own Aga  doo's, but still performing the actions

Aga Doo Link - go on, press it - you will LOVE it

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POv-3yIPSWc

O, and if anyone can explain this song, DON'T!

So, you can have your schmancy pants soirees costing millions of $$$$ but give me the tarp in the backyard, pig on a spit, and Aga doo any time. THAT is what memories are made of!

Cheers

Lisa x0x

Disclosure - I did not write this post because I feel inadequate or have a simple mind so if Gina Rinehart's children are reading this - please don't!