Last week I turned twenty-five.
‘It was on Saturday of last week that I aged five and twenty years.’
I’d also be saying it in a posh English accent because two centuries ago Australia wasn’t colonised.
But I digress.
However, despite my time poorness, sleep deprivation, and jellied brain, I was able to whip up a party – Kate-style.
Like the Emu Prance.
The Submersed Fish Swim.
The Ape Armpit Scratch.
And of course, the famous Chicken Strut.
They don’t make pinatas like they used to.
If you look closely, you can see a head near Ali’s elbow. That’s my younger brother.
If you look even closer you can see the TV is displaying a football match.
You could say our ping pong match had background crowd participation.
Let me explain it. You have to navigated an obstacle course of wool while balancing a boiled egg on a spoon, without touching the laser power of the wool and thus chopping off arms and limbs.
Even if it’s because the egg you’re doing limbo with is freshly boiled and smells like a farting rhino.
I suggest boiling your egg a few hours in advance.
We topped the night off with some invigorating trampoline larking.
It’s a little hard to describe.
As we choo-chooed our way under the night sky, I came to a couple of conclusions:
1. It’s good to have friends.
2. It’s good to spend your five and twentieth birthday with people as goofy as you.
3. And lastly, man, I should really grow a mooooostache!
xx Trouser Girl