The Economy - Stealing More Than My 401K

Every year my husband’s company hosts a really nice dinner for their upper management. This year, since the CEO was asking each department to cut back and not spend more than was necessary, he didn’t feel it appropriate to follow through with this year’s holiday celebration and a few weeks ago we received notice that it was cancelled. My feelings on the topic were conflicted. On the one hand, I didn’t have to find something to wear. On the other hand, I would not be eating prime rib and cheesecake on someone else’s tab. On the positive side, I would not have to make small talk with 50 people I didn’t really care about. Nevertheless, there are a few people I have made relationships with over the past several years and always enjoy catching up with them. Most notably, however, I would not be making my annual encounter with a woman I have come to know as “Glitter Boobs”.

She earned her nickname by coming scantily clad each year in a low cut number, having sprayed fine, glitter spray all over her tanning bed influenced skin. Every year when she walks through the door on the arm of her husband I think to myself, “Let the games begin,” and I try to make sure we are seated near them at dinner. See, I didn’t grow up going to parties and watching people get wasted so this is the only real experience I’ve had to witness what alcohol does to people. And Glitter Boobs never disappoints.

Our last get together was the most memorable as I sat there and watched her empty glass after glass of wine. It seems so innocent, the wine. It’s basically grape juice, right? Yeah, grape juice that makes people tell naked stories! So apparently she and her husband were on vacation, and they were “busy” and then all of his friends walked in. The details are fuzzy now, but trust me, SHE GOES INTO DETAILS, and as she regaled the account through inebriated tones I kept close watch on her husband, who seemed to be taking it a little too well. Maybe he had enough to drink to dull his senses to the point that “Dude, your wife is talking about the two of you without your clothes on!!” didn’t register.

As we left I turned to Cory in the car and said, “Did that just happen? Because seriously, I don’t think I dreamt it, and holy crap if I ever get desperate and attempt to dull my senses with liquid substance will you please remind me about this experience and warn me that partaking of said substance might find me without my top on at a company party covered in glitter and telling our innermost secrets?!?!” We laugh, and then pinky-swear on a lifetime of sobriety, and wake up the next day with no headaches or remorse. Sometimes for fun I imagine “The Day After” for Glitter Boobs. She wakes up, tries to run her hand through her hair but then it gets stuck in the hairspray, looks at the clock that says 10:00 am as she starts to come to, then she attempts to sit up in bed until her head starts to pound and she moans and throws her head back on the pillow. Her husband starts to stir and they mumble morning greetings and then it hits her, like a ton of bricks. She slaps her husband on the arm and audibly gasps. “Hey! Husband! Did I…? Oh no. I did, didn’t I? Did I tell that story???”
He speaks into his pillow, “I’m not sure. I think so, but my head is kind of fuzzy. Don’t worry about it, everyone else was wasted too.”
“Everyone, you mean, except for Cory and Kristy. They don’t drink.”
“Right,” her husband would say. “But who are they gonna tell? They’re Mormon and I don’t think they’re supposed to gossip.”
“Does she have a blog?”
“I don’t think they’re allowed to use the internet.”
“Phew,” she says wiping her brow. “I guess that’s a relief.”

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m a little disappointed about our cancelled dinner. It’s the first year we wouldn’t have to pay for babysitting, and I could use a good “See? There’s other people out there who are crazier than you” experience. Nevertheless, my yuletide visit with Glitter Boobs will have to wait another 12 months, which should give her plenty of time to come up with a great story for next year. Sorry GB, I hope you find somewhere else to wear that dress.