Instead, I'm complaining.
It's the frantic cry I've heard so many times.
"Where are the caterers?!"
(They did show up, no worries)
My parents are having two hundred people over for a cocktail party. My house can hardly handle the four of us, but we're having two hundred. I guess some will spill over into the garden. Regardless, I'm being a typical whiny brat about it. I don't know why I can't just be cool with it. There is NO REASON for me to be so bitter over this. And I can't even pull the whole "Oh look at them they're so shallow with their cocktail party" thing, because it's a fund raiser for Mark Warner (who really doesn't need any more money because he's outraised Gilmore by like, ten thousand billion dollars, but it's a nice gesture regardless, no?). A noble cause. Nothing to complain about.
Except that I'm up here, locked in my room, keeping the dog out of the caterers' way. He's whimpering. I don't blame him.
Clara
No comments:
Post a Comment