My mild unease about what I'm going to wear to the office Christmas party has now festered into a full-blown fucking panic. It's the one time where it'll be semi-accepted if I shake The Twins loose in the company of my boring-as-shit colleagues..
I almost dare say it's hoped for .
Well, by my lecherous, frog-legged, halitosis-drenched boss anyway... But I'm happy to oblige. I guess I can always plead drunken amnesia later...
Been on Emergency Call to best friend the whole morning. But since she's nursing the grand daddy of all hangovers, all I've been able to get out of her is a couple of dry heaves. So far, the only thing I'm 100% sure of, is that I'll definitely, positively be wearing my red hooker heels. No question.
Let the record show - I absolutely bloody love any form of staff party (especially Xmas ones) because they're guaranteed to go pear-shaped in some shape or form. Too much booze, too few snacks, bad music, bad speeches.... and inevitably someone ends up shagging on the boss' desk.
God, I hope this year it's me....
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