We'll meet up at Matt and Araidia's around 8:00, and there will be a long table with instructions and ingredients for a number of fine cocktails. None of this "Hilarious Double Entendre On the Beach" business, I mean the kind of cocktails that your ancestors enjoyed back in the 1830s! There will also be finger food, although perhaps not quite as ancient of pedigree.
Matt's original thought was that he would pay for all the liquor and the beer and the cookout supplies from his trust fund. However, I pointed out to him that such a rash course of action would cause irreparable harm, as many of our friends would go into Honor Debt, and be forced to renounce their surnames out of shame for having allowed the Guest of Honor to pay out of pocket for his own party.
He next proposed, grudgingly, that we set up an elaborate system of randomization in which a confluence of the stars and the position of the sun determined which item you should bring to the table according to a long list, here appended. I agreed, provided that we attach an additional caveat: anyone who can't afford to bring things to our party must not do so
. At which point the Lovely Cat wondered why we tempted Cruel Fate with a Complicated Confluence Algorithm instead of merely allowing folks to sign up, as they wished, via Google Docs
. Which we have done.
So, was this invitation long and confusing enough for you? I dare you to read it again after the Caipifrutas!
Seriously, being thirty-two has been an absolute delight, and I really hope to celebrate it with you.
*Every locale is exotic from somewhere, and for easily-bewildered folks two is a bewildering number indeed!
†† In Matt's house, Martini means gin+vermouth. You want a newfangled "vodka martini", you should specify it. You want some highball with vodka and chocolate sauce? Fine, but it's no martini.