The last time I hosted any sort of party must have been at least five years ago. It’s not that I am anti-social. I am perfectly happy to go to other people’s parties, in fact I love parties. But I just get stressed over the prospect of people coming over to my house. I worry over everything, people not having a good time, people behaving inappropriately, people breaking things. And by the time I have gotten over all this stress it just really doesn’t seem worth it.
Long before we reached my birthday my mum started trying to persuade me to have a party. My friends think I’m crazy, as they can never get their parents to let them have a party as much as they try and I am the opposite with mine. I reached a decision that I wasn’t going to do anything, yet again, despite this being my 18th birthday.
Just a day before my birthday I agreed on the spur of the moment to let some friends stay for what started off as maybe five people going out and just sleeping at our place but ended up as eight or so people coming round before heading to Bury St Edmunds for my first legal visit to a pub and nightclub, all then heading back to Gazeley and staying for a big cooked breakfast in the morning. However despite my reservations I had such a great time, everyone enjoyed themselves and I reckon you could even call it a party! It just shows that you can’t know you don’t like something until you try it.
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