Sean's Work Christmas Party

Before the party

Reagan is clearly not pleased

At the Party with surprise guest, Santa

The crazies

It was a cold and dreary night. Rain Rain Rain. My favorite!!! Love it. But not driving or riding in it. I opted black pants over jeans only because my jeans felt a little snug not because I wanted to make an impression. Oh but I am sure I made an impression. So we pull up in front of the house that Seans thinks is the correct address. I say "Hon, um, there arent any lights on, I dont think this is the right house." Hmm he thinks, maybe I got it wrong. However he had not written down the house number. So we drive along and I try to guess which house is the party house. I tell him to look for a balloon. Hard to see in the rain. Raining harder now. My hair looks like Alfalfa on a bad day. I just dont know what happened to that cute cut. It has turned against me. Each day, twisting and turning into a monstrous creation... think bowl and feathers circa early and late 1980's. Anyway, Sean calls the host. He was only off one number in the house number but it made a big difference (light vs dark). I saw a soggy balloon hanging desperately to the mailbox. Wife is always right.


We go in, everyone was gathered in the kitchen. I said hello like I knew them. No clue. First things first, open up my Diet Dr Pepper and it spills on the floor. Like a pro, I race to the paper towels. I can find them anywhere. Ask my mom, I am the paper towel Queen. Viva is my brand of choice. So I wipe it up and stand at the counter. My clothes get dried by the steam emanating from the dishwasher I had lodged myself against. Whew I am hot. I make a plate (mistake #1) and scuttle over to the nook area to a table by the nice cool window. There are about 20 different conversations going on and I am sitting by myself. No big deal. I get some wings (Mistake #2) and eat those up. Some people come and sit with me at the table.


So here she comes. Word vomit queen. I cannot stop talking. Perhaps I have not had an extended conversation in a while. I am talking and talking. About the usual, Reagan and her antics. People are listening so I keep on talking. I try to look at Sean and see if he is giving me visual cues to shut up. He is kind of looking off into space so I am not sure what that means. New people come to the table and they seem to be listening to me also. Per chance I am a mesmerist. All is well and THEN-----------it is like whats-his-name in Along Came Polly when he ate at that foreign restaurant (Thai food maybe). Horrible stomach cramping. The blood drains from my face, I get chills and ongoing cramps. I can no longer talk and I am concerned that my audience thinks I am not interested in their reciprocal conversation. I am, I am!! Underneath this gut wrenching pain, I can hear you talking in the distance. Fade to black. Sean, I mouth, I need to go home (Mistake #3). Frown, pout. YOUR WIFE IS SICK!!!!! I am not being dramatic and if you dont get me out of here, I am going to be stuck in the bathroom crying out in pain the rest of the night. So we ride home in silence. I cuddle up with the heating pad, watch a movie and go to bed. And then am awakened with the stomach monsters at 5 am. What did I eat? Was is the earlier Chick Fil A? You know they are evil. Ughhhhhhh.


This is getting long but I am sure I had more to say. Some other time. Gotta go wipe Her Royal Highness' runny nose.