It’s My Party, Sign this Non-Disclosure Agreement

by A. R. Taylor
A. R. Taylor

Thank you all for coming to my birthday party. It’s a thrill to have you here. On the advice of my attorney I must ask you to sign this very short Non-Disclosure Agreement, assuring me in writing that you won’t tell anyone about what you have seen, heard, or done here. Please fill in your name and your relation to me: mail carrier, hairdresser, gym manager, physician, boyfriend, ex-husband, second ex-husband. You name it, just put it in there on the form, unless you are a convicted felon (you know who you are, Jerry!)

Let’s start with the hors d’ oeuvres. I vouch for all the cheese, except the garlic-infused Fontina that looks slightly suspect. This caveat is listed in the addendum as “not covered by any subsequent legal proceeding.” There are several small cornichons, though sadly they’ve been in the fridge for, I want to say a long, long time. The expiration date has faded, but I tried one and am still standing. I had to draw the line on sauerkraut because it reminds me of my grandmother. There will be none of that.

Drinks: As you will notice, only the finest Russian Standard and Grey Goose vodka are being served. However, due to the obvious fact that after the second martini, all vodka tastes like the ass end of a rocket, you can’t really tell the brand of vodka you are drinking, or even correctly name the female candidates for president. By the third one, you don’t know your own name, so you won’t recognize that we’ve switched to the generic brand from the local supermarket, and if you do, you are a vodka maven but must not relate this fact to anyone at the party or to those who were not invited.

If you know my age, you may never mention it to any living human being. Only my doctor is allowed to know, and he’s not totally sure because I lie to him. So, birthday party or not, this is off limits. As an adjunct to this, whether I’ve “had some work done” on my face is none of your damn business.

The cake: I have worked on it night and day. It’s a red velvet cake. It does indeed contain some Red Dye #3, and herein is the FDA’s note on this substance, otherwise known as erythrosine: ”There have been laboratory studies which showed that very high doses of Red No. 3, administered directly in the diet, caused cancer in rats.” Due to this warning, I have had to adjust the ratio of icing to actual cake so that your exposure will be limited. Please don’t complain and say, “Wait, where’s the cake? It’s all icing.” You should be grateful that I’m watching out for your health.

There will be no party games because, honestly, it’s a very divisive practice.

I certainly hope you will all enjoy this hilarious video of me in a bathing suit yelling at a bunch of 10-year olds at our local pool who would not stop playing the game, Marco Polo. Marco–––––Polo––––. Why is it that they can say this 1600 times and not get sick of it? If only I could monetize that game. It did get slightly more interesting when I sang out, Bader––––Ginsburg––––Bader––––Ginsburg––––, and then jumped straight into the pool, making a big splash. They did not get it.

Secondary Non-Disclosure Agreement: You will not disclose to any living human being, any news outlet, website, or online entity, that I asked you to sign this non-disclosure agreement.

Don’t forget to click here if you’re a robot. ☐

Okay, let’s party.

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