Fit for a King
The approaching rumble made the fine crystal tinkle. The party guests looked towards the window, wondering what new extravagance would appear.
“And finally, your Majesty, a gift from the sultan of Brunei,” the master of ceremonies said as a sleek white nose came into view, “a Bombardier Global 8000! He wishes you an excellent birthday, and many more to come.”
The guests all looked to see the king’s reaction. The small figure on the throne was not looking out the window. He was playing with a box that had recently held a $50,000 diamond-studded teddy bear. “Vroom! Vroom!” he said.
I went to my first Mug Party last night. I thought it was about coffee and I even brought my own mug. That wasn’t what it was about.
The invitation said it was a costume party. I came as Pikachu. Everyone else wore fancy dresses and ornate opera masks.
Someone really should have told me.
Everyone was given a small bag of coins and a rubber hammer and it soon became apparent that a Mug Party was where people flitted around, politely knocking each other on the head and stealing their money.
I quickly lost all my money. Half an hour into the party, I had a splitting headache and was handing out IOUs to my muggers. I was so easy to mug, they were queuing up. By the end of the night, I was $182 in the hole.
That is the last time I let my mad Uncle Kent plan my birthday party.