I had a friend who never had a really great birthday party. So of course we threw one for her. We started down by the boathouses, which were gaily lit up with christmas lights on the bay. We had a huge strawberry shortcake. At some point the cake got tossed on the ground and people danced in it. Then, to wash off the icing, people jumped in the bay. Fully clothed. A few shimmied up pilings. Fully clothed. Fully wet clothed.
The birthday girl decided that what she really wanted out of this party was mud wrestling. Lucky for her, my father had recently dredged up mud from the bay and had large hills of toxic, glass and metal laden mud on his property by the warehouse. Birthday girl and a minion left the boathouses and walked down the street to create a mud wrestling pit.
My parents, being older, sane, and sober, climbed up on top of the ten foot mud piles to avoid being dragged into the pit.
Other friends and family cheerfully threw themselves into the fray where they emerged with multiple cuts from the debris in the impure mud. Caution was thrown to the winds. People jumped in the water who didn’t know how to swim.
Finally everyone, except my parents and most of the women, was pretty filthy, and the guys were invited in our house to take a group shower. While they were in the shower, six women, including my sister, who had a camera and wasn’t afraid to use it, entered the bathroom and had a long discussion about whether to pull the shower curtain down. We didn’t. It was an epic lost opportunity.
When the evening ended, I put my friend to bed on our couch. She was so happy with her party.
I covered her up with a blanket and then put a life size inflatable skeleton on the toilet seat of the bathroom she would use.
At two a.m. I heard her.