One of my best friends had a joint birthday party with two other girl friends to celebrate them turning the big 30. I’ve been waiting by the 30th door for the last two and half years for her join me ( yes, yes, you can do all the calculation you want. Why don’t I save you some time? I’m thirty-two and half, here, I said it). Finally, the last member of our little gang has finally joined the over 30th club, the eagle has landed.
Her birthday party’s theme was masquerade/ burlesque. The theme of the party came as a little bit shock to me as I always see her as a girl who always believes in unicorns. I’m sure if you open her up, it’s all flowers, rainbows and butterflies with a pink creamy center in there. Maybe this is what turning 30 can do to a person, I’ve been there, I should know. Suddenly, you become a woman who believes in unicorns but also moonlight in Moulin Rouge.
I spray painted my hair pink to honor the birthday girl, dressed myself in a multi-coloured leopard prints dress, applied on thick make-up, had my masquerade mask in hand, transformation for the party completed, I would’ve made all the drag queens all over the world so proud.
There was so many people at the party, everyone put their own spin on the party theme. There were people wearing feather masks then there were people wearing feathers in their hair even her birthday cupcakes were decorated with black feathers ( I really admire the amount of coordination she put in, can’t wait for her wedding), there were girls in fishnet stockings then there were guys in bow-tie full on suits and there was a woman in her black trainers that she hid them under her long maxi dress (you know who you are, don’t think you got away with it). I was hoping to see at least one guy in corset but never happened, what a disappointment. I saw a guy with a crispy white shirt and a long black cape though, I really thought he must got the wrong memo, it’s way too early for Halloween. Then there was the birthday girl in her full on gear, corset, check; sexy skirt, check; fishnet stockings, check; head piece, check; a glorious bosom, double-check; she’s out done Lady Marmalade, not enough of fabulous words can describe how fabulous she looked.
As the expensive iPod, aka the DJ was blasting the music from the last century which reminded me the good old days when I was young and free but had no money to do anything young and free, I firmly glued my buttocks on the sofa, the days of dancing in five inches high-heels are long gone, nowadays, these shoes are for display purpose only. As soon as the clock stuck midnight, our little over 30th gang started saying good-bye synchronously, the feeling was mutual, bed is calling. After all, turning 30 actually is not so bad, like Hervey Allen rightly put it, ‘ the only time you really live fully is from thirty to sixty. The young are slaves to dreams; the old servants of regrets. Only the middle-aged have all their five senses in the keeping of their wits.’.