A very Posh night out

Friday the 20th. October, Autumn. Time for glowing parties after dusk while a chill descends outside. The golden windows exuding the sound of tinkling glasses and honeyed voices from within. A nice picture, but it sounds more like a page out of The Great Gatsby than my own life. First stop, a “P” Party in Cowgate (read: party central), followed by a cocktail party in Marchmont (read: way far across a scary park to be in at night).

For economy’s sake, I dressed for the “P” Party as “Posh” so I could continue straight on to the second function. There were some fantastic costumes in addition to the expected Pirates and Princesses, including Photosynthesis, a Pair of Palm trees, Pippi Longstocking, a Private eye, Punk, and (my favorite) a Public display of affection. Sadly, I couldn’t stay long as my posh transportation to the cocktail party was on a time schedule. In the most elegant terms possible, I boarded a the number 41 bus to make my way safely to Marchmont, whilst clutching my posh £4 red wine I picked solely because it said “Toro!” on the bottle. I may be posh (or at least for yesterday evening), but I’m a bit of a wine dunce – I only differentiate between red and white, corked and screw cap.

One quick, posh public transportation ride later I arrived and, failing to read my own handwriting (was it number 34 or 39?), I headed for the loudest building on the street. My gamble paid off, as karma delivered me into the apartment of smartly dressed friends mixing inventive new cocktails. The invention of the Red Hat cocktail ensued (whose only ingredient I can remember is grenadine…), being named after THE best accessory there, a very fetching red hat. A very good evening, lasting into the wee hours.

Then I woke up this morning still slightly drunk. Poshly, of course.

Trust me when I say that it was no small miracle that I ended up so posh last night. I arrived back at my flat from rugby practice looking like “a crazy homeless person who decided to go run around in the mud,” as my flatmate Maisarah put it. I even had mud in my hair. To the shower! I scrubbed until my legs hurt and then realized that you can’t wash off bruises. Finally, I was returned to my proper clean (posh) state and prepared for the evening.

Oh, and in other news, I just sorta chopped my bangs off this afternoon. Oops. Gotta love that DIY hairdressing…