You may recall a post a few months ago – about my sister’s engagement party. To recap: she’s getting married (when, we don’t know) to a lovely Greek man, and they’re having a big Greek engagement party. As they should.
As an aside, my older sister recently announced that she too is engaged. If I get one more “ah sweet, all three sisters are engaged” comment, I will scream loudly… in the butchest possible way I know how. I’ll just copy my boyfriend…
This means that on Saturday I will engage in the plate-throwing frenzy that seems to be part of a Greek party, and hope not to seem too out of place.
I’m actually no longer scared of the the plates not breaking. I’ve been reassured that they are a special, more-flimsy plate that breaks a lot easier than normal crockery. Thank the Lord. They clearly have had gay people at their parties before, and made dummy plates so the gays without throwing genes don’t feel too embarrassed.
But, as an aside, I was informed of a new terrifying, life-endangering tradition that I will have to partake in.
Not only do I have to watch for shrapnel as shards of cheap pottery smash around the shoes… I may not wear the shoes…actually, I think I may invest in wellingtons… aaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyyywaaaaaaaaaaayyyy… but, and I have this on good authority, they throw whiskey on the floor. (Seriously)
Now this in itself is a danger. I’ve been known to slip on the odd wet surface, so this whiskey puddle could make for an embarrassing moment as I glide across the floor before landing under a table with my legs in the air.
Not only, dear readers, do they throw whiskey on the floor, but they light it. WITH FIRE. I am going to be dancing along, flinging the shoes from left to right in a circle of flames while shards of cheap pottery fly around me.
I’m going to be dancing in fire.
Me screaming internally.
You see, I will probably be the one to step into the flames as I dance too enthusiastically (apparently I need to drink some of the whiskey too, so I shall be feeling rather adventurous – given that I get drunk on the smell of whiskey), and as I make contact with the fire, some of the whiskey that has landed on my pants in the Greek whiskey throwing ceremony (I assume they have one too) will burst into flame, and I will be the flaming (no, not queen) person, screaming, as people rush to get away from me. I’ll set the mamas and the papas alight, and hopefully some kind Greek soul will take off their jacket and throw it over me before I set the rest of the guests alight.
Because, do you know how much hairspray Greek people use?
Highly flammable people. In a room of fire…
Let’s recap, shall we?
Me and the shoes.. lalalala, chat chat chat…
Me yelling “Opa!”
Now after showing this post to someone before posting, I was told that apparently you have to dance with a shot of whiskey on your head.
Flammable goods on the hair!!!!!!!
That’s it… I’m not going…
These Greeks can endure the MADNESS on their own.