Christmas partying

We had our work Christmas party last night.  For the first time, I wasn’t the most drunken, I managed to keep my shoes on all night, I didn’t end up being driven home by a bouncer and a French bulldog and I didn’t attempt to re dress myself on the train home.

Instead I watched and laughed as other people got increasingly slurry with their words, then shouty drunk.  I had the wherewithal to hide when I saw people I’d rather not exchange work conversations with and find people I’d not seen in ages who I wanted to catch up on interesting things with and did bad dancing with the people I actually like.

Perhaps I wasn’t quite as sober as I’d thought though, as I managed to make friends with random people on the train home.  I chatted to the man opposite me, who strangely lives in the house I considered buying just before I discovered Pog Towers.  I told him he must be a midget as I remember when I looked around that I discovered the ceilings were so slanty I wouldn’t have been able to stand up in the shower.  I should have waited until he stood up before making such a throw away comment:  he was indeed a little short.  For some reason I also remember informing him that I was once the head chorister in a village choir (which I was, I wasn’t just making up random facts).  I can only assume it had some relevance to something, but God knows what.

Then there was the VERY shouty drunken lady who wanted to use the toilet but couldn’t work out how to shut the door behind her.  Short Man explained, and even showed her which button to press, but it was all too much and she wobbled off.  And came back five minutes later to repeat the performance.  By this stage most of the carriage were involved in some way so she sat down to tell everyone all about where she lived, where her mum lived and how she ‘really needed a wee, but didn’t like the toilet door’.

In the queue for the taxi, a nice man behind me showed concern that I was shaking with cold and when I replied the man a few people down turned round to reveal himself as Gorgeous Godson’s dad.  And that was the point that I got all shouty drunk in excitement and informed the entire queue that I was looking after ‘that man’s son tomorrow night’.  I’m sure I heard someone mutter ‘God help that kid.’  Humph.

So I may have delayed my shouty drunkenness right to the end of the night, but I think I have finally worked out how to do the Christmas party thing without feeling like a donkey pooed in my head the next day (a brilliant phrase snaffled from my Sisters).  So much so that I am looking forward to running around after Gorgeous Godson shortly.  I think I may have turned into a grown up.  I don’t expect it to last, to be honest :o)

Giant dancing transformer.  Obviously.

Giant dancing transformer. Obviously.

And his friend.

And his friend.

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