This weekend was the Christmas party.
Christmas parties seem to be an excuse for people to get drunk and stumble around, but despite that and my hatred of crowds and small talk, I always kind of look forward to it because I get to dress up. I can put my fancy underpants on, slip into a dressy dress and strap on my party heels. All dressed up with some place to go. I can even wear jewelry because I won't be carrying around a small person who would be trying to eat my earrings. (And when my husband starts chewing on them, I know it's time to head home.) I take the time to fix my hair and put on my "evening makeup". My husband even changes out of his normal t-shirts and puts on a shirt that actually has buttons. Oh yeah. We look hot.
My brother and his fiance watched the kids for us, so I knew they'd get plenty of ice cream and Pepsi and maybe dinner, if they had room. And all those loud, obnoxious toys that I secretly take the batteries out of and then say are broken? Well, I knew they'd be "fixed" when we got home. And the kids know this too, so of course, they couldn't wait for mommy and daddy to leave. Nick woke up that morning, wanting to know if we were leaving yet. There is nothing like the love of a child to make you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.
My hubby does the majority of the presentation at these parties; the awards, the thank yous, all that good stuff and I never cease to be amazed at him. He can stand up there in front of 60 people and whip this speech out of his...head...and never miss a beat. He's eloquent and funny. He is an excellent communicator. Yet, he can't write a letter. I am the exact opposite. I couldn't do a speech to save my life. I skipped days and days of school to avoid doing oral reports and that's something I never really outgrew. Even with the words written in front of me, I'd stutter, blush, choke, gag, mispronounce, wet myself and then pass out. But I can write. I just can't speak. Woof.
The other good thing about these parties is the food. It's always good. But what makes it amazing is the fact that I didn't have to cook it.
At past parties, I've been stuck at tables where the main topic of conversation was porn texts, complete with show and tell, but this time I ended up seated next to a few of my favorite people there. And I'm embarrassed to admit that I had a giggle attack with a fellow party goer during my husband's speech. I felt about 14 years old, sitting in the back of math class, getting a stern look from the teacher. (Sorry hon, we weren't laughing at you...)
Last year there was genital grabbing, bad karaoke and one notable guest bared her ample bosom to show of her nipple rings. This year, however, the bar bill was several thousand dollars (Yes. I said thousands.) less than it was last year, so the behavior was much more respectable and much less blog worthy.
However, my husband and I were propositioned by a swinging couple.
We politely declined then got in the car and stared at each other.
"Did what I think happen just now, really happen?"
"I think so."
We went home. And all the kids were sleeping in their own beds. (This is where the fancy underpants come in.) So we had sex in our own bed. Which was very exciting for us...there is usually a child in our bed, so when we want to...you know...we have to get creative.
"Oh come, all thee faithful..."
Ah, yes. The Hoildays are officially upon us.