The Office Christmas Party

You don't remember getting in, you can tell by the way your eyes are stuck together that you didn't remove your false lashes, let alone your make up, you are definitely going to spontaneously combust if you attempt to move and yet at the same time if you don't get a drink right now you are going to start sipping your nail varnish remover.  So far so bad.  And then.  And then you remember.  You are going to have to hand in your notice, move house and have plastic surgery. Yep, it's the morning after the Office Christmas Party. Dun Dun Dun (dramatic music, work with me here).  As a warning to you all I am going to share my most shameful Office Christmas Party story.  Christ, I am blushing already!!


Now as you would appreciate this sordid affair happened a very very long time ago, right back when I was 19.  1985 to be exact, yea yea laugh it up.  So starting at the very beginning I was doing a Youth Training Scheme - basically I worked 40 hrs a week for our Local Authority for the princely sum of £25 a week.  The benefit to me was that I gained "experience" (and then some, but not quite what the Government had in mind I suspect) and the benefit to them was, well manifold to be fair - cheap labour being the least of it.  My boss was a rather terrifying lady who when she liked you was your best mate and when she did not was the scariest fricken woman I have ever met.  She never really liked me.  At the time I really didn't understand why.  Now, I do.  A (as we shall call her cos I can't be arsed typing Annette continually) would have been in her mid to late 30's I think, she might even have been older, I never really bothered to think about it at the time.  One day about a week before the xmas party I was summoned to her office.  She was holding a black dress that had thin, widely spaced, straps from the shoulder down the sleeve - an early version of the much admired Liz Hurley safety pin number, but from Dorothy Perkins.  She asked me if I was wearing exactly the same dress to the office party and I confirmed that I was.  She then stared at my chest.  My beautiful, bountiful, super perky chest.  "And are you wearing a bra with it?" she demanded.  Had I been a smidge more savvy my response might have included the words "sexual harassment" but as it was I replied that it would be a crime to encumber such natural exuberance, or something similar.  (I really did have fab boobs back in the day!)  She sort of grunted at me and I considered myself dismissed.  It was only many many years later that I realised that in that moment I was the most hated woman ever.  Can you imagine being late 30's and frankly rather past your prime (she was, I'm not saying it goes with the territory) and knowing that you are going to front up at the office Christmas party in THE SAME DRESS as the 19yr old work experience girl with the fantastic tits?  I can actually feel her pain tbh!


This is not the worst of it.  So the fateful evening arrives, I have added a pair of silk french knickers, fishnet stockings and killer heels to the dress.  You know what, my mum was convinced I was a virgin til the day I married, reading back that sentence her naivety almost beggars belief doesn't it!!  A  is wearing a strapless bra that has squished what bust she has into an unattractive bolster shape and she is wearing pants, tights, pants on top to hold her tights up and some nice low heeled comfortable shoes (of course I have no idea about the pants/tights/pants combo but its highly likely).  I was single and ready to mingle.  A had brought her fiance.  You may have some idea where this is going round about now!  Sooooo having danced away to Saving All My Love For You, The Sun Always Shines on TV and The Power of Love, having drunk more malibu than anyone sane ever should I find myself being pressed into a dark corner for a long, and as I recall very very VERY nice snog by someone who was quite clearly thoroughly enjoying the experience, if you get my drift.  And when we came up for air my boss, his Fiancee was standing behind us with a face like thunder.  She'it.  Luckily I left the Country 6 months later although the two were unrelated!  (In my defence I suspect with hindsight that she probably did rather well out of it, as Tom Jones once said - I pumped up the tyres, but she got to ride the bike.)


So let that be a warning to you, Office Party's are inherently fraught with danger!  I can't be the only one though, surely?  I would LOVE  to hear your most shameful office party experience - are  you brave enough to share, oh and if you want to go anon please do!!