Why do people think it’s okay to use words like “preggo”?
Anyway. Merry Christmas. Last night was my work holiday party. It’s at the country club that’s right near me now, which is lovely and convenient.
For the first six Christmases that I worked there, it was way out yonder at a fancy hotel, and I like the country club better. I ought to become a member. I’m certain it’s affordable.
Lottie Blanco did NOT wear this to the party, which did I mention was at a country club?
Anyway, for the second year in a row, The Poet was my date. I left my house at 5:17, and due to holiday traffic, I got to her place at 5:20. We left her parking lot at 5:21 and we were at the party at 5:23. “I hope you brought snacks for this long drive,” I said to her.
I should offer the disclaimer that both The Poet and I live rich-people adjacent. I imagine in the days of yore all the mill workers lived in my hood and all the mill owners lived in the hood with the country club. Oh, they’re grand old beautiful houses. How I wish I were rich rich rich.
“Do you think any of these people are copy editors?” I asked the poet as we passed grand houses. The Poet lives in these beautiful old white-brick apartments, and I don’t know WHO used to live in those. Maybe single millworkers! Maybe she knows. Poet, do you know?
I just heard a rustle out in the hall and Lily
you heard me
is out there playing with a fallen ornament. It’s so cute Ima let her do it awhile. It’s like watching an old grizzled sea lion at play.
Anyway, as you walk into the country club—and when don’t you, richy—there’s a giant Christmas tree and we have a photographer take your photo with your family or your date or just you, and a few days after the party they send us an email saying, Photos from the party are ready.
Yesterday it became my goal to get in as many family photos as I could, so that when they announce photos are ready everyone will flip through them and be all, Why the hell is June in all these photos?
You’d be surprised how many people were amenable to this idea, and I look forward to the All June All the Time extravaganza of photos. Also the photographer we hired this year was a very amenable young woman who is probably horrified of me at this juncture.
Here’s a very festive photo of my festive table. Woooo! Christmas!! There’s Lottie Blanco; The P; and the guy who sits next to me, Fewks, with his wife, Mrs. Fewks. Although sometimes when I’m messaging with Fay I call him Murray Slaughter.
I was talking with Murray Slaughter’s wife and was stunned to find she didn’t know half the stupid stories about work. “Don’t you TELL your wife about us when you come home?” I asked. Apparently, he only tells her stories that affect him, which. I am sure.
Anyway, eventually our festive table was joined by the copy editor who took care of my black kitten last spring while I jaunted off to the beach with Lottie Blanco and that copy editor’s girlfriend, and also by Jane West.
I think we need a better name for that copy editor. Let’s call her Cat.
They have a ton of good food, and you should see The Poet pack it away, but every year I get the food aimed at the children: mac and cheese and chicken fingers.
Ryan was one of the many people I forced to take official Christmas tree pictures with me, and you can see that baby thinks I’m obnox.
It was good to see everyone in their holiday finery. I know in years past there was an after party and I’d always get told where it was, but now not only do I not get told, I also have zero desire to go. After two hours at the party, I was exhaust.
As I was readying to leave, a guy from IT, with whom I kibitz, said, “Do you like my tie?” I said I did. Y’all know I like a januty blue.
I’ll be sure to show you the official photo of Poet and me in front of the tree, and the 29429429042 other photos of me with everyone’s family.
Afterward, I got into my footie pajamas and called it a night. I mean, it was a night already. I didn’t have to call it that to make it one.
Tonight a woman a block away is having an open house. She moved to this neighborhood the same time I did, and she has an Instagram account showing the changes she’s made to her millhouse and I follow it with great anticipation. I have never met her but twice now on Instagram she’s invited people so I am totally going. The walk with probably be two to five minutes, which apparently is my limit for attending holiday get-togethers.
I hope the open house has family photos you can take by a tree.
P.S. This weekend marks 13 ding-dang years I will have been blogging. Isn’t that ridiculous?