Yesterday was my birthday, and honestly, I still don’t know if it was a complete disaster or the most epic party of my life.
It all started when, like a naive soul, I entrusted the planning to my best friend, Luisa. She swore everything would be “top-notch,” that the table would be laden with exquisite delicacies, and that the guests would be thrilled. Of course, Luisa! Upon returning from work, I found myself in a scene worthy of a comedy film about failed parties.
Chaos reigned in the living room. Leftover cold cuts and somewhat dry cheeses were mixed with olives that, apparently, no one had eaten. The vegetables—cucumbers, tomatoes, and a limp bell pepper—looked like they’d been cut last Monday. I even suspected Luisa had emptied the refrigerator and called it a “birthday feast.” Bottles of wine, juice, and soda were lined up haphazardly, some already half empty. Someone must have started the party without me.
Luisa, radiant as a Christmas star, greeted me at the door. “How are you? Do you like it?” she asked, proudly pointing at this culinary apocalypse. I nodded, hiding my surprise. I didn’t want to hurt my friend, who, apparently, had tried it. But all I was thinking was, “Who eats dry sausage on a birthday?”
My brother Javier, as always, added his own absurd touch. He brought a cake that looked like it had survived an adventure. The box was dented, frosting stained the lid, and the phrase “Happy Birthday!” resembled an abstract Dali painting. “I chose it!” he announced proudly as he placed it on the table. I looked at it and decided to light the candles just like that; maybe in the dim light no one would notice their condition. But Javier was so happy that I didn’t want to disappoint him. After all, he’s my brother, and his enthusiasm always overcomes his mistakes.
Ana, my coworker, also shone. She gave me a cosmetics set whose slightly worn box indicated it had been sitting in her home for a while. “I thought it would look good on you!” she said with such a genuine smile that I couldn’t get angry. At least I’d have something new in the bathroom, although I could already imagine that jasmine-scented cream being too sticky, and the mascara being dry. But those were just details.
The guests, for their part, added even more color. Someone brought a karaoke machine, and within half an hour the house was resonating with off-key versions of ’80s hits. Luisa, encouraged by a couple of glasses of wine, believed she was the reincarnation of Rocío Jurado and launched into “Como una ola” with such vigor that the neighbors must still be talking about that performance. Javier, not wanting to be left behind, sang “Liberen a Willy,” prompting peals of laughter from everyone.
By midnight, the table was even gloomier, but the mood was high. We laughed at the absurd gifts, reminisced about old anecdotes, and even held an impromptu toasting contest. The winner was Ana, who wished me “so much happiness it wouldn’t fit in a suitcase, but not as heavy as one full of bricks.” I still don’t know what she meant, but it sounded great.
As the guests left, I looked at the mess in the living room and knew I wouldn’t forget this birthday. Yes, the table was far from perfect, the cake looked like it had been hit by an earthquake, and the gifts stirred more doubt than joy. But there was so much laughter, so much love, and such ridiculous moments that I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Luisa, Javier, Ana, and the others made my day alive, authentic, and a little crazy.
Next time, I’ll definitely organize everything myself. Or at least hide the dried-out sausages before they arrive. But, truth be told, these parties are life itself. And I’m already looking forward to the next birthday to see what else my friends and family will surprise me with.
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