How many kids do you want to invite?

So the younger teen wanted a party for her birthday. Sounds like a reasonable request from a young girl. Used to be renting a moonwalk perennially entered me in the father of the year contest, I just had to make sure that no one left with a concussion, or in traction. Then for a few years came the, "I don't really want a party because I'm too old for that and it would make me look uncool, but I still want to do something with my friends because deep down I AM still a little kid and, well I have to have a party," stage. Then there was this year.

At first, it went something like this:
"Dad, how many kids can I invite to my party this year?"
Party?
"My birthday party."
I repeat, party?
"I want to have a party for my birthday this year. How many kids can I invite?"
How many do you want to invite?
"How many can I invite?"
You can't answer my question with another question.
"I dunno, like 50?"

From that point on, negotiations ensued, and I brought the number to a final tally of 25. And I thought, am I really going to have 25 girls in my house at once? I told her she could invite the boys too. And there it is, the first girl-boy-mixer that my 14 year old was going to attend, and it would be at my house. Well at least I could keep an eye on them.

So for 5 hours, small gangs of well groomed, respectful kids roamed the outskirts of my house, only daring to venture in for the pizza and cake. (Side note: some brought Ready Whip, and the wife assumed they were going to be "huffing", but they actually put it on their pizza. Really.) They buzzed around like bees outside of a hive, darting in for only a fleeting second. I think the endless supply of caffeinated sodas was too tempting for some, one kid threw up from a few too many. Wait until he discovers beer. Then they closed the garage door, put on a strobe light, and started dancing. I kept peeking through the door, being the nosy dad, making sure that there was no 2nd and 3rd base action going on. 1st base I could tolerate, but all I saw was a few slow dancers standing as far apart from each other as slow dancers possibly could. So cute. Ahh, memories.

She had the time of her life, the teenager did. Her friends all had fun, and they'll all be talking about it at school on Monday. And therein lies the rub. Better than a material gift, she'll have the giddy feeling of being popular at school, at least for a day, as the kid that had the cool party. But me? I just became the dad who let his kid throw the cool party. Am I going to be doing this for the next 4 years as she enters high school? It only goes downhill from here. I really miss the moonwalk.