Done! Christmas party at the newly acquired husband's was a success. Met the managing director who attempted to shake my hand whilst I was fishing out a straw that had in a strange twist of events fallen into my shamefully wide exposed cleavage. Gracefuly recovered via cheek kiss. Stayed away from the canapes counter to my usual free food oriented mentality that no matter how rich I shall become or not become, I don't foresee being able to shed permanantly.
As the music shifted to rock and roll assaults from wild flying dancing couples mounted into the teens. Spiky heel of one of them in thigh of mine and it was time to go. But not before getting into a fight with the bathroom lady who refused to let me walk into the stall with a water bottle. Just so it's clear, if I want to drop something into that water bottle that does me better than just good old booze, I will do that in the dancefloor just as easily as in the privacy of the loo. It's not like there aren't people humping poles and kissing under Marry kiss-mas signs to divert the attention away from me.
Now onto my own Christm-aka/Hanu-mas/Eid al Hanumas party. We are a multicultural office of eight who between them don't share a single belief except the trust in the principles of economics. Those principles, guided by the law of the homus economus, the rational human, states that venue prices are up due to high demand and that in January venue prices are low due to, well, low demand, and so we shall wait and celebrate when all you sentimental, silly people have wasted your millions. Then, when we are done counting our profits gained from the opportunity cost of NOT having a Christmas party, we will all sit around a table, newly acquired husband in the middle, laughing at excel jokes, avoiding eye contact, bonding over world bank contract intricacies, sharing stories of economizing adventures and rejoice in general awkwardness which will finish in time for everyone to take the tube home; wouldn't want to squander what has been gained by precision, foresight and good planning.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Economists ... when will you learn to place a value on timing and sense of occassion and togetherness?
As for the spiky heel in your thigh - better get yourself to a doctor. An ex-boss of mine got a spiky heel in his ankle on just such a party and ended up in hospital with a massive infection because he ignored it for a few days - puncture wounds look fine but are usually bad.
Sounds like engineers even have better Christmas parties than economists. We had ours on the last day of Hanukkah in our building lobby surrounded by tinsel, angels, Santa hats, Nativity scenes, Christmas trees, and presents (there was a menorah in another room). Christmas music was playing over the PA (think Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Oh little town of Bethlehem, not Rudy the Red Nosed Reindeer). Who said the US federal government had to be PC? Of course, we each had to pay $15 to attend said event during our lunch hour (can't waste the tax payers' money!), and it consisted of catered Mexican food (meaning a secretary went to a restaurant and bought the tamales) which was below acceptable by California Mexican food standards. We ate at long folding tables (which had been carefully arranged according to a plan submitted to the site fire marshall to ensure proper egress in case of an emergency, and of course we were instructed how to exit through the lobby doors in such a case) while our division manager handed out a few gifts in perfect "The Office" fashion. Fantastic!
I think in my case the scar was more emotional, but thanks anyway. Along with dying of a paper cut, that would be a bad way to go.
I am very relieved to hear that tax money does not go to engineers. Must have state priorities right. Oh, and our fire escape is only accessible via a ladder through a window over my head(ladder is stored downstairs). Speaking of a staircase to heaven...
Post a Comment