Before I had my children there was a phase for having the party in the workplace. This was especially dangerous, as body parts were photocopied, the bosses office desk was an obvious large flat surface for the younger prettier girls to believe that their older, shorter, uglier boss really did like them and conventions such as keeping clothes on while playing Twister were not so important as they would be in, for example, a restaurant.
As a non-drinker I enjoy a work Christmas function in the way an anthropologist enjoys visiting newly discovered tribes. I am fascinated and entertained but probably not truly part of the group. In my mind, I am as lively and vivacious and as interesting as everyone else thinks they are but really I know I am desperate to get home to bed, my pyjamas and a warm cup of cocoa.
When I was self employed, the work Christmas party was a very sad and lonely affair. Sitting in your office with a warm glass of diet coke, a hat and party blower can be quite depressing and Secret Santa really is no surprise at all. Have you ever pulled a Christmas Cracker by yourself and then pretend to laugh at the joke you have just read to yourself?
The Long Suffering Husband's Christmas work events can also be a challenge for me. I am not very good at playing the dutiful wife and do find myself making rude comments during the speeches and nodding off while the German Exhaust Engineer next to me tells me about tolerances and torque. When the children were small these evenings out were a real treat. Fully paid for by the supplier, unlimited food and drink and an excuse to dress up and go out for the evening like a real grown up without a splodge of Weetabix on my shoulder was my idea of heaven. Now the children go to bed later than I do and need very little of my time, so that I could go out whenever I want, all I really want to do is stay in with a good book or some knitting. Maybe I'm getting old before my time but I have never been excessively sociable.
The major peril of a work Christmas party seems to be that the alcohol causes people to relax to the point where they share more information than they would really want to. They may not want their boss to know they were a pole dancer, funded their way through college as an escort or posed for some fairly dodgy photographs. They certainly don't want them to know that although they signed the official secrets act and despite managing to slur, "If I tell you I'll have to kill you," they really can't keep a secret of any kind. They don't want to all their colleagues to know exactly how large their husband's penis is or to really understand exactly what they'd like to do with Justine Beiber in a dark alley if no one was looking. They don't want to face the person from work who didn't go to the party, who they drunk texted sentiments of undying love on Monday morning. And they don't want to face the photos appearing on Facebook the next day that they really don't remember.
Other non-drinkers (or even moderate drinkers) can get quite sniffy about those who get very relaxed at the Christmas do but I don't mind. I'd like to be appearing to have that much fun but I couldn't cope with the after-effects so I will carry on kidding myself that I am the life and sole of a party without any alcoholic help.
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