1 year ago Halloween

Trick or Treat

Call me a square, but I don’t like parties. Never have, never will. All that needless small talk, cringe-worthy dad dancing and regrettable decisions – not for me thanks, also coming in near the top of my worryingly long list of dislikes is Fancy Dress. Now imagine my delight when my best friend decides to hold a Halloween-themed engagement party.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m overjoyed to be maid-of-honour – Judy has been my best friend ever since I can remember – but god almighty, dressing up as a half-eaten corn-on-the-cob and drunkenly making out with my best-friends-fiancé’s-step-dad is not how I’d choose to spend a Friday evening.

In what I can only imagine is a test of my organisational abilities, I have been dealt the responsibility of providing the food and drink for the party. Whilst her soon-to-be-husband is a fairly well off, upper-middle class sort, Judy is salt of the earth – born and bred in Relford Town. Being from a similar background myself I decide to make the kind of party buffet we grew up with back home. Whether it was an 18th, 21st, funeral, engagement or even a wedding – Relford Social Club’s dinner-time spread always did the job.

There is one slight spanner in the works of my dining plans; Judy is a Coeliac – as are many of the attendees of the engagement do. We agreed that in order to keep things simple – all of the food would be gluten free. Eight hours, one bit-of-everything fruit punch and endless bags of gluten-free flour later and I’m just about finished…


The party is in full swing and my buffet went down an absolute storm if I do say so myself. Self esteem is at an all time high, and as if life couldn’t get any better, Judy’s hot friend Pete just pulled me into the rapidly-growing conga line. I decide to dice with danger, removing my hand off the girl in front and placing it upon Pete’s. He flinches, breaks the chain and sprints across the room towards the toilet, not looking back at the conga-carnage left in his wake. Others begin to drop out of the line, storming the rest rooms like teenagers at a Bieber concert.

I catch Judy’s glare from across the room, she’s making her way towards me and as she does, The Village People’s YMCA comes on. Arms fly up in the air, pointing and chanting “YOUNG MAN, THERES NO NEED TO FEEL DOWN…”. The movement of limbs gives me enough cover to slip through the middle of the dance floor and out the other end, making my way towards to exit. It’s too late. Judy got there before me and she’s blocking my escape route. “You promised, Mindy, you promised!” she yelps. “I’m sorry.” I retort, tears flooding my eyes. “I hadn’t enough gluten free flour to finish of the vol-au-vents…what was I to do! I didn’t think anybody would notice…” I see an unprecedented level of anger in the eyes of my best friend, and just as she’s ready to unleash hell, her now-inflamed intestinal tract sends her dashing to the lavatory. The toilets are now over-capacity with ghosts, witches and monsters fighting over their right to the throne and I just stand there looking on at the destruction of my best friend’s engagement party. I think it’s best I call it a night…



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