A Very British Dinner Party

One week before the dinner party:

“Debbie – boobs or legs. NOT both”

“Oh stop being boring, I don’t know anyone there.”

“I DO. And that is not “just above” the knee – it barely covers your vagina”

“It’s going to have to do. I’m not going to pull with just my face on show am I.”

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I was invited by my housemate Laura to attend a dinner party at a highly prestigious location – the whereabouts I cannot disclose (Hint: I chose to accessorize accordingly).
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“You are not wearing that?! Where did you find it?”

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The invite was extended, Laura invited myself, our other housemate (also called Laura which makes life hard) and my friend Merryn (still attempting to make it up to her after our Italian Adventure).

Merryn seemed so excited! (“Why have we been invited I don’t understand?!”). Laura F sent across our details to get on the guestlist (and Merryn continued to question everything: “Seriously what is this? I wanted a fun night out, I don’t want to be sold”).

The night before I sent Merryn across the final details (“DEBBIE! There’s 14 of us altogether!? I thought that was just on our table” – “I got confused, please stop shouting” – “I knew it. Have we been invited as their ‘entertainment’?! DEBBIE STOP IGNORING MY MESSAGES I KNOW YOU’VE SEEN THEM”).

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We all began purchasing our dresses (“IT’S FINE LAURA. I’ll just make sure the sleeves don’t fall down – I refuse to buy another one”).

Laura K had attempted to buy a few from ASOS (“the only one that fits is the floor length ballgown – this is going to be so embarrassing”). Laura F had purchased one with a 24 hour delivery, however we were both out the house when it arrived so I found her in Costa writing a formal complaint to Royal Mail (angrily tweeting: “this is a life or death situation. Bring it back” – “Laura babe, they are going to see it’s just a dress delivery“

“I DON’T CARE”).
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So we went to try and find her another: “how about this one …”
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On the night, after weeks of planning and prepping, we all got ready (in approximately 20 minutes. Laura F, after her failed attempt to bring down Royal Mail on Twitter was now on a sewing machine making a dress) and were soon ready to leave (“I’ve booked the taxi. Downstairs now” – “Debbie, I’ve lost my shoe?! Have you taken it?!!” – “Why would I steal one shoe? Hurry up!”) Laura K was having her own dilemmas:
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We were soon on our way (“Shit, Merryn just text asking how far away we are. Taxi driver how long? – “Probably about 30 minutes”)

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“Hey Merryn, should be there in 5 mins – traffic is really bad though.”

 

We collected Merryn (“Mate, didn’t you wear that dress on the beach?” – “I have been waiting outside that station for 30 minutes looking like a hooker, shut up.”) and we arrived at our location.
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The guy who invited us had one request for the evening: “Please be on your best behaviour (Laura F: “Debbie don’t end up in prison.”) you’re here as my guests, so don’t make me look bad” (“When its time to go home Debbie, you have to leave” – “Make me.”)

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As we entered (four blond girls wearing black dresses for every occasion) we were greeted by the other guests (girls) and began to mingle (“they’re wearing black tights”).

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Conversation was flowing (for Merryn and Laura F), me and Laura K were struggling:

Host: You girls look lovely

Laura K: No we don’t. We went on the cheapest, shittest website yesterday and these were the only scraps of crap we could find.
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The location was full of surprises and heirlooms (“mate! I’ve just found a box of cigarettes”) so we popped outside to get some air (“you girls are welcome to have one“) and continued chatting (took the entire pack), drinking more champagne and reminiscing with the host (about a rotten shoe):

“Do you remember that old shoe I once had, the one that absolutely stank”

“Hahaha yeah. I put it outside – christ that did stink.”

“It got soaked the other day so I bought it inside, then it went crusty.”

“You gonna throw it away?”

“Not sure, probably not”.

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We were soon shown to our seats for dinner and observed the million pieces of silverware and cutlery, and heirlooms belonging to notable historical figures.

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I was worried (petrified) about the dinner table chit chat (and word vomit that usually erupts from my mouth) so I did some research before on Popular Conversation Staters:

Work and Hobbies

“Speed dating is great fun! I got totally bollocksed and went home with a guy – obvs didn’t write that part up on the blog.”
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“I wrote one post about this absolute posh cunt, he threatened to take me to court.

Shit, he’s your friend isn’t he?”

Find common ground 

 “HAHAHA that’s so funny I got called a “prawn” once! That’s why I don’t wear clothes anymore”.

“I grew up in Cirencester, near the Cotswolds”
“Oh I went to school in Cricklade, that’s near there”
“SHUT UP – THAT’S MY HOMETOWN”
“Isn’t that in Swindon?”
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Give up and just lie

I have absolutely no idea what a ‘rusty trombone’ is. It sounds awful.”

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By the time we had all finished eating (destroying five desserts “I don’t eat often ”).

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I got some pictures in my nice (“just above” the knee – whoops the sleeves fell down) dress.
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We then headed to Annabelle’s, a bar nearby – it was quite high end (luckily I’m not, so chucked my bag in the centre of the dancefloor and twerked around it).

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We left in the early hours; Merryn had chosen to leave a little earlier (“Debbie a man just came up to me and asked if I was “working” this evening. I’m going home”). We thanked the host (who didn’t thank us back but told Laura F we were “good value”) and booked our taxi home.

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When we were waiting outside, we bumped into Merryn again. (She had accidentally lost all sense of direction for an hour and was still looking for her taxi).

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We finally arrived home and went to bed.

(But before…)

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