Impressing the boss’s wife and other smooth moves

The Lad and I went to his office holiday party last night and had an excellent time. I know, because I woke up still drunk.

Even as the gussying-up beforehand is often the best part of an event, the post-party conversation the next morning is always enjoyably illuminating.

Lad: I’m trying to remember if we did anything stupid last night.

Me: I think we were okay.

Lad: I did like your conversation with the CEO’s wife.

Me: …What? I didn’t…wait…

Lad: You had a long conversation about what it means to be the boss’s wife. You were very focused on the term “boss’s wife.”

Me: Oh, hell. [Holds head and groans.]

Lad: And you kept threatening to find Brenda* and spill a drink on her. (*Name has been changed to protect the innocent, and that bitch Brenda.) But you didn’t want to waste a drink ticket. Man, you were telling everyone about that.

Me: Once we got to the Indian place it’s all kind of a blur. I remember taking my shoes off, and a long conversation about how to get Jared’s friend out of jail…and then nothing until I was walking down Market Street barefoot and yelling.

Lad: Yelling? I don’t remember…

Me: Our voices were echoing off the houses on our street.

Lad: Huh.

Me: Oh my god! I’ve become one of those girls! The two a.m. girls who come into our neighborhood and shriek and wake everyone up!

Lad: Yup.

Me: At least you and I can be two a.m. girls together.

Lad: Do you remember how you announced you were going to read a few Wodehouse golf stories when we got home?

Me: [Holds head and groans.]

Lad: Well, I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything stupid.