My senior year in high school I planned my very first party. No, it wasn't my first party ever--just the first one that I planned solo from start to finish. It was going to be all girls--only senior girls*. It was going to be an ice cream sundae party, I called it: B.Y.O.B.
Bring Your Own Bananas
I made the invitations myself with PhotoShop. I hand delivered all 20 invites to all my friends. I don't know if I had 20 friends but there was 20 invites. There was no RSVP stated. This is how I learned about RSVP.
All my friends were excited and told me that they would definitely be there. Now that was not all 20, mind you. Let's say, this number was 12. I remember it was more than ten but it couldn't be fifteen. If it was fifteen; then that makes the story even more tragic.
Sunday of the party, I woke up with glee. That morning I got dressed drove to the grocery, bought ice cream and ice cream fixings, decorations, bowls, spoons---were there balloons? I even bought a few extra bananas in case someone forgot.
My mom helped me set up the back patio. My brother and dad made sure to stay upstairs out of (girl) harm's way. Everything was set. I was excited.
Come party time, my best friend, SK showed first, like a trooper. Then a couple others showed. Couple, meaning two.
That was all, folks.
Three people! Three People! I was nervous.
Then one more showed, but she didn't really count because she was a Junior. She was one of those that only had Senior friends---God bless her.
Then I sunk to low and called people. Oy. Turned out, Ms. Caroline had a party the night before that everyone was drunky at and pooped out tired spending a lazy afternoon at another friend's house.
OK--don't get me started on why I was not invited to Caroline's--well, I know why and maybe I'll share that one day. It's the very same reason my parents made me write a 10 page paper on the affects of alcohol. ha ha ha...
When I called them, they had all "forgotten" about my B.Y.O.B party and promised to be there as soon as possible. Did they? Nope!
I was hurt, crushed, humiliated. My mom felt sorry for me. My brother was happy we had ice cream for days.
So when you get an invitation from me followed by many emails asking if you are for sure coming to the party--don't roll your eyes and hate on me and the RSVP. Just know that I am hurt party planner with some wounded repressed memories.