Describing it as epic would have been a blatant understatement. It would have put Project X to shame – giving the term “house party” an entirely new meaning. It would have made all other house parties seem like those “play-dates” you had with all of your daycare friends at Chuck E. Cheese’s, where frolicking around in the ball pit was the wildest thing ever.
But seriously, it would have been crazy, hovering perilously on the edge of unadulterated insanity and “a night no one would remember, but never forget.” Everyone waits for the day, let alone the entire weekend, when their parents will be out of the house for a while. And now was my time; I had to do it. It was the weekend before spring break, my parents were in Central America, and they trusted me (of all people) to make sure the dogs were fed and the plants were watered. The only logical thing to do was to throw that party – that party long anticipated by myself and all of my friends ever since high school. I intensely thought about throwing it the entire week, amidst studying for two midterms and writing a paper and two lab reports. I analyzed every minute detail and fantasized about how awesome it would be.
I figured it would have been something like this:
And the aftermath would have been something along the lines of this:
But, despite the enticing temptation and occasional threatening text to “throw a party or else…” I didn’t throw a party. I went to my grandma’s house instead. She had meatballs.
Let me tell you, that was the best dish of spaghetti and meatballs I had ever consumed. Now you may be telling yourself, “That’s a terribly unequal tradeoff – having a plate of meatballs instead of hosting the house party of the century?!” You might even be frustrated and confused as to why an opportunity as special and precious as this was put aside for a plate of meatballs. I’ll tell you this: It was much more than just a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Well, maybe it wasn’t, but it was still an incredibly delicious homemade meal made by a genuine Italian grandmother.
Now, I bet you were thinking some nugget of wisdom or phrase of inspiration was going to come out of that last paragraph. I’m sorry to say it, but it wasn’t. I am simply conveying to you that I would rather have a delicious plate of meatballs rather than throw a killer party, no matter how much fame I attained afterward. So what’s the point of this post? That Grandma makes the best meatballs ever? That life isn’t just an endless party? That there is a time and place for everything?
Let’s just leave it at this: I probably would have thrown that party in high school, but in college, no way! There are more important things to do back home over break.