It's a party, call the cops
A couple of weeks ago, I attended a friend's birthday party. Unlike most birthday parties I attend these days, this one didn't have any cupcakes or goody bags; it was an adults-only party. Due to a babysitter mix-up, Alfie ended up staying home with the kids. Initially I wasn't too sure about going dateless to a couples party, but I'm glad I did, because I had a great time. With mini cheeseburgers, lots of alcohol, a dance floor, and light-up hoola hoops, and a bunch of kid-free parents, it was almost impossible not to have fun. Even though I called it a night at 10:30, I left on a high note, wishing we could go to parties every weekend.
I guess I'm not the only parent who sorely misses grownup parties, because the very next day I heard through the grapevine that the Palo Alto police had broken up the party. When I heard that, I felt like an old fogey. Geez, I'm only thirty-seven, it's not like I can't stay up till 1AM and wake up by 8 the next morning!
I spoke with my friend a couple of days later and teased her about her wild late-night parties. She scoffed and said that the police had broken up the party at eleven o'clock.
Huh? I had assumed the police had arrived at two AM or some other wee hour of the morning. Isn't eleven o'clock a bit early? And here I am, thinking I'm the old fogey. My friend wrote notes to all of her neighbors informing them of the party, so the noise should have come as no surprise. When I left, the noise was definitely at party level, but certainly not at nightclub or rock concert level. I suppose a neighbor called the police to complain anyway, but at that hour, you'd think the police could have issued a warning. Even Cinderella got to party till midnight.
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