Gemotions

“Another year older, another disastrous party planned,” I muttered, tossing the brightly colored invitation onto the counter. My jaw clenched as I read the words, "A night of cocktails and conversation." Sarah was so predictable. I had a vision of her guests, all nodding politely while pretending to be fascinated by her recounting of her latest Pilates class.

The sheer blandness of it all was offensive. I pictured the boring hors d'oeuvres, the carefully curated playlist of elevator music, and the forced laughter. A wave of irritation washed over me, a physical manifestation of my boredom. I almost ripped the invitation in half, but a malicious spark of an idea kept my hand still.

I glanced over at the pile of flyers for my own gathering – a full-blown masquerade ball with live DJs and open bar. I’d make sure she knew just how thrilling my party would be. Sarah’s expression of mild disappointment, the knowledge she’d made a mistake, would be quite satisfying.