Saturday night was Mark’s office party.
I spent the previous two weeks fretting about what I was going to wear, and doing multiple reps of push-ups just in case it was going to be something strapless.
People who know me also know the story quite well. Nothing new here. It is the usual thing about The Girl who Frets and Shops and Hates Fitting Rooms. I won’t get into that story. Nor will I describe The Perfect Work Party Outfit for when It’s Not my own Work Party … the how hard it is to find the outfit that is the perfect balance of sleek, sexy, shocking yet not too shocking, and manages to reveal the good parts and hide those that are not-so-good, and is above all a unique, funky and well-made garment.
Impossible. Doesn’t exist. Why don’t I just head to Montreal for a weekend and scorch my credit card? Huh. I don’t know.
Anyway, after two trips to Bayshore and much inner moaning and grousing I reached into my closet to see if I can put something together. I found the top I was going to wear last year, but didn’t because I didn’t end up going. It is a disco top: black sequins, no sleeves, just a v-shaped piece of sequinny fabric holding it all together in the front and back.
The pants that I was going to wear with them have suddenly become snug. Ouch. I pulled out a pair of Ralph Lauren black velvet that used to be too big. This year they fit. So this was my outfit, although my main concern was that I was showing too much arm.
I will forgo the details about the wine, the salad and the eggplant parmesan, and skip to the highlight of the evening.
On the way in the door we received an envelope with two drink tickets and a taxi chit. Inside was also a small numbered ticket. We were told that there were door prizes at a table at the front of the room, numbered to match the tickets. We found ours. It was a CD called “Country Heat,” with songs like “Santa’s comin’ in the red pick-up truck” and “Ridin’ the Hog Hallelujah.”
Mark discarded the wrappings in a tray in the lobby.
Later in the evening they began the REAL draw. First off the bat was a trip to some tropical destination. And guess what, we couldn’t find our ticket.
Prizes were being handed out left, right and centre. Mark grumped about it the entire time… how no one told us to hold on to our tickets etc etc. I suggested he go back out to the lobby to check to see if his ticket was in the garbage tray. The stakes were high. Mark ducked out as more prizes were being awarded. In fact, as he was walking away they were giving away a TV.
I feel compelled to point out that this wasn’t a typical garbage container that Mark was investigating, so please don’t think that he was kneeled over a wet and stinking bin with yesterday’s marnina sauce covering the sides. It was a server’s tray, one that was used to clear off a table. Other than some used glassware it was quite clean. No sauce.
Within a few seconds he was back, showing me that he had found the ticket.
“It’s a ticket,” he whispered. “But I don’t know if it’s our ticket.”
I had this feeling… What if they call our number? Sure enough, our number was called. A Sony DVD player! Mark froze. Our table cheered. I buried my face in my hands, half-laughing, half, well, I don’t know.
As Mark told me later, part of him was expecting someone else to come forward and claim rightful ownership of the ticket. I could just see it.
“THAT’S MY TICKET!” He’d yell, pointing an accusing finger. “I THREW IT IN THE GARBAGE AND YOU, YOU GARBAGE PICKER, YOU SCAVENGER, YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF MY LAPSE AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING HOLDING MY NEW SONY DVD PLAYER!?!?!?”
Punches would be thrown. I would have to jump on the other person’s back to keep him from clocking my darling husband, all the while digging my non-existent fingernails into his neck and giving him a few well-placed kicks in the back of the knees. Bedlam. I would get eggplant parmasan embedded into my sequins. Catastrophe.
Fortunately none of that happened. Mark ‘fessed up as soon as he reached the presenter of the aforementioned prize. Why? I’m not sure. Perhaps it was the guilt talking.
We’ll see if anyone steps forward on Monday. I may have to use kick some shins after all. :)
