My Non-Alcoholic New Years

New Year's Eve.

The time for parties.

And, I know this will surprise you, but it reminded me of my first real party.

With boys.

I'd like to tell you about it . . .

It was my first real party.

With boys.

I was fifteen.

The basement family room had been cleaned to a sparkle.

Fire roaring in the fireplace.

Food and nibbles set out in a tempting array.

Soft drinks table arranged with numerous selections and/or glasses.

The pool table was set.

Music blaring.

Lights dimmed.

And actual guests circling the room.

Dancing.

Playing pool.

Playing games.

Eating.

Sipping.

Shouting/visiting.

My first party was hitting on all cylinders.

Then . . . a snag.

Or rather, my younger brother and sister, aged ten and eight.

Okay, a snag.

The two of them, banned from the actual epicentre of fun-ness, had been circling the outside of the house and peering through the basement windows at us party-ers.

During one of their circuits, they came upon three bottles of beer.

Stashed innocently outside one of the windows.

One of the party-goers, knowing ours was a non-acoholic home, had brought his own party with him.

Uh-oh.

Recognizing those three bottles as potential disaster (their words, not mine) they dutifully came and reported.

“Oh,” I said.

“What should we do?” they asked.

“Umm . . .” Okay, so I was my usual decisive self.

They stared at me for a moment, then left.

Shaking their heads.

Sisters. Pffff.

A short time later they were back.

“We've taken care of it,” they said.

“Oh? Good,” I said.

And gave it very little other thought.

Until the next day.

At breakfast the next morning, they told me their ingenious and daring solution to the whole 'someone-brought-beer-to-our-teetotalling-party fiasco'.

They had taken the bottles.

Opened them.

Emptied out the contents.

Refilled them.

With wholesome, nourishing, party inducing . . . water.

Re-capped them.

And replaced them.

They thought it was hilarious.

I'm not sure what my friends thought.

Certainly no one mentioned anything.

But how can you complain when someone tampers with the alcohol you clandestinely (ooh, good word!) brought to a party of fifteen/sixteen-year-olds?

After that, my friends opted to hold any parties at their homes.

Where the drinks menu could be a bit more varied.

And a little less secretive.

And tamper-proof.

The jury's still out on whether they were more fun.