Life's Like That: Fairy Lights and Friends (a misadventure with fire)

I had a Friend who's moving to Brisbane for university (and by the time you read this she'll have already left). As a going away present, myself and a few of my friends put together a surprise party. 

FriendA and I arrive at FriendJ's house a few hours before the dinner. We chat about feminism, throw taco cups in the oven, and fling fairy lights across the TV and over the fans. Shove furniture across the room, exchange high school horror stories, arrange sushi on platters. 

FriendJ, FriendK and Sister arrive. We hide in the kitchen until Friend arrives, then jump out and yell surprise. Her hands shake, she's so taken aback. 

Sushi, soy sauce, wontons, taco cups. I laugh so hard I almost spit my iced tea across the table cloth. Catch up with the events of the last few months and eat too much food, but no one really cares. Fairy lights weaves our conversation together, and our words smell of old candles and the dog that jumps on our laps. 

The board game? Nuclear winter. We each write an occupation (teacher, engineer, social media manager) and a seperate trait (claustrophobic, sings the Wii song, and someone who says 'woah there buddy, just let the winds guide you' whenever someone's upset). Mix and match the traits. We're stuck in a bunker, and we have to chose five people to spend the next twenty years with. When the construction worker who weaves baskets out of his leg hair is drawn, we immediately chose him to be on our team. 

Friend writes 'scoober diver' and it gets paired with 'who has explosive diarrhoea'. We have to explain how to spell 'scuba'. She blushes and won't look anyone in the eye. When FriendJ tries to take a picture of 'scoober diver', Friend shoves the paper into the candle and Sister panics. She grabs the paper, holds the flaming evidence of our educational failure over the hardwood for a terrifying moment then drop it onto the tablecloth. Now it's time for everyone else to panic. You can't use water on electrical fires, but what about iced tea on paper fires? Friend can only think of 'stop drop roll'. We all stare at the building flames before Sister pours her iced tea on the fire. 

The tablecloth is soaked in iced tea, and the charred remains of the scoober diver who has explosive diarrhoea is stuck to the fibres. We laugh late into the night, aware that life is throwing a curveball at us. Though none of us have great hand-eye coordination (or balance), I think we can handle it.