A match flared and then voom! Up went a pile of wedding photos in flames. A moment later my girlfriends and I were stabbing a huge, tiered cake to death, in a shower of crumbs. Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive was blaring from the speakers.
After 30 years of marriage, my girlfriend Angela* discovered her spouse lying face down, naked, on his curvaceous personal trainer. Her husband’s marriage vows clearly should have said: ‘Till death us do part… or till someone hotter comes along.’ A husband-ectomy shortly followed. Angela’s divorce party is the third I’ve been to this year.
