21st birthday parties are pivotal moments in Irish society.
You've matured past your teen years, where every party included you getting absolutely obliterated, and you're now at the stage where all you want is a few calm drinks with your friends.
*lols internally*
If you didn't have your own, it's probably because you were scarred from someone else's, where you will have seen at least one of these moments...
There's slurring and tears and a "cheers" at the end.
You may not remember what you said, but you can bet it was enthralling.
Heaps of them, scattered around your house.
And you only invited 50. You'll be eating lasagne and cocktail sausages for weeks.
If you didn't have a photo collage of you did you even have a party?
Even though you explicitly said you didn't want them. They're just cringe for everyone.
You said plus ones were okay, but not them.
Usually with your relatives as you collectively weep over the beauty of Bono's voice.
Because you're getting old, because they're getting old, because we're all getting old.
Those little 21 confetti that you scattered so gracefully on the tables? They're now in your carpet, forevs.
You've just barely finished getting ready and now you have to deal with 20 questions. Christ.
Probably on your Dad, or your cat.
And think you're hilaaarious with your new voice. So original.
Tonight is the night you tell your neighbour how you really feel about them, so you can hide in shame from them forever more.
Your garden isn't as inconspicuous as the normal smoking areas.
And that's the way it should be.
We wouldn't have it any other way...
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