Shall We Dance?
Mr. Right and I went to his office Christmas Party on Friday sans kids. But first it started with the pre-party. This group likes to get out is all I can say. And drink.
We met at Mr. Right’s manager’s house, or should I say mini-mansion. It was as if I had just stepped into a Pottery Barn catalogue. Beautiful! They must not have any kids because 1) they looked 15 years old, 2) there were no stains on the white carpet and 3) the house was immaculate.
See, now that would never happen at our place. If I get something new, the kids have this inborn sense of duty requiring them to make sure that every new object or room to have either a chocolate handprint embedded on it or a crack installed within 10 minutes. They are very diligent at this task…
Oh, and 4) they had a huge selection of wine from which to choose. I love childless couples. They get to have some major fun or at least money to look like they have fun. I was drooling over the wine cellar. A bottle never lasts long enough at our place to make it into a cellar. It usually goes from bag to table to glass. Perfect order.
Being that it was the first time I was meeting his fellow workmates, I met lots of new people. Correction… new, YOUNG people. I think the new hiring age is 14. I just can’t keep up with all these new laws…
I teased Mr. Right that he was the old man of the group. He didn’t seem to mind. Darn, I’ll have to get him on something else…
As a team, they seemed to gel pretty well. They were cutting each other, making each other laugh, and telling some good stories on each other. They were accepting of the spouses/girlfriends at the party too. That is always a big relief when you don’t know anyone. I was totally preparing to have them spring the “Name Game” on me. I think I might have won, too. (Bob with Rebecca, Nate with Jackie, Jeff with no one, Jared with Natalie, Sean sans mate, Mike with Sarah, Wes with Abby, Karen sans boyfriend… See, it’s been three days and I can still remember. There has got to be some use for this talent…)
From the gorgeous mini-mansion, we went to the big party, the one with all the big bosses and little bosses and in-between bosses and every other employee. We went to one of the many country clubs in the area… ones of which we are not members, to say the least. I can’t even be a member of the book-of-the-month club, let alone some posh, swanky country club where you have to have on your best underwear to enter the door. (I’m sure that they check that as they check your coat…)
After thwarting the panty-check guard, we made it to our party room. The company puts on a good spread… smoked salmon, spinach puffs, ravioli, smoked turkey and roast beast, I mean beef, but it was huge, it could have been a beast.
There was an open bar with two free drinks, but my favorite parts were the three wine bottles on the table and the live band with a dance floor.
This was shaping up to be a good night…
The company was good, the wine and food was great and the band was, as Bridget would say, fabulous. They could play a variety of music, at all different speeds and from a diverse grouping.
Mr. Right and I figured that we would start the dance floor side of things.
Okay, being that Mr. Right hates to be the center of attention, it was all me begging him to get out there with me. He gave in after the promising to … well, never mind. He danced with me.
Now I’m not sure if you have seen my picture yet, but I am a white girl. Even further, I am a Christian white girl who grew up in the Bible belt. Further yet, I am a Christian white girl who grew up in the Bible belt who can’t dance. Where many of my friends spent time at dance clubs and bars, I went bowling, watched movies, hung out with my friends, stayed involved with plays or choir practices and went TP-ing, with the occasional entry onto a school dance floor or a dance club. Needless to say, I have no neat moves in my groove. My grooves are more like a drunk stumbling in the street.
But fortunately for me, I don’t care what others think of me. I just like to have a good time.
I think, however, Mr. Right and I were the only ones who didn't mind looking like fools. We danced three dances, and still no one joined us on the floor. Mr. Right was starting to break out in a sweat. He stuck with me, though. After the third one, he seemed to relax and just enjoy himself. We wound up smiling (laughing) at ourselves. But we had fun!
Eventually, Jeff came out to dance with me and Ray taught me the Pretzel. John and his wife came out and dance a couple of dances too. I think a few people finally got enough liquor in them to try it out.
It was sad that one of the oldest couples (us) with kids (we were one of the few couples who did have kids) were willing to get out there and enjoy ourselves. We saw lots of people watching with the look of wishing to be out there, but they were glued to their chairs.
I refuse to be one of those couples who sit things out because they’ve gotten older or they worry about what others will think. I plan on going out dancing, well if not dancing, then at least with a bit of pizzazz in my step.
I can’t wait until next year’s party… Maybe I’ll get my dance lessons in by then. Then I’ll really cut loose!
You should still watch out for your toes, though. I'll most likely still step on them...
We met at Mr. Right’s manager’s house, or should I say mini-mansion. It was as if I had just stepped into a Pottery Barn catalogue. Beautiful! They must not have any kids because 1) they looked 15 years old, 2) there were no stains on the white carpet and 3) the house was immaculate.
See, now that would never happen at our place. If I get something new, the kids have this inborn sense of duty requiring them to make sure that every new object or room to have either a chocolate handprint embedded on it or a crack installed within 10 minutes. They are very diligent at this task…
Oh, and 4) they had a huge selection of wine from which to choose. I love childless couples. They get to have some major fun or at least money to look like they have fun. I was drooling over the wine cellar. A bottle never lasts long enough at our place to make it into a cellar. It usually goes from bag to table to glass. Perfect order.
Being that it was the first time I was meeting his fellow workmates, I met lots of new people. Correction… new, YOUNG people. I think the new hiring age is 14. I just can’t keep up with all these new laws…
I teased Mr. Right that he was the old man of the group. He didn’t seem to mind. Darn, I’ll have to get him on something else…
As a team, they seemed to gel pretty well. They were cutting each other, making each other laugh, and telling some good stories on each other. They were accepting of the spouses/girlfriends at the party too. That is always a big relief when you don’t know anyone. I was totally preparing to have them spring the “Name Game” on me. I think I might have won, too. (Bob with Rebecca, Nate with Jackie, Jeff with no one, Jared with Natalie, Sean sans mate, Mike with Sarah, Wes with Abby, Karen sans boyfriend… See, it’s been three days and I can still remember. There has got to be some use for this talent…)
From the gorgeous mini-mansion, we went to the big party, the one with all the big bosses and little bosses and in-between bosses and every other employee. We went to one of the many country clubs in the area… ones of which we are not members, to say the least. I can’t even be a member of the book-of-the-month club, let alone some posh, swanky country club where you have to have on your best underwear to enter the door. (I’m sure that they check that as they check your coat…)
After thwarting the panty-check guard, we made it to our party room. The company puts on a good spread… smoked salmon, spinach puffs, ravioli, smoked turkey and roast beast, I mean beef, but it was huge, it could have been a beast.There was an open bar with two free drinks, but my favorite parts were the three wine bottles on the table and the live band with a dance floor.
This was shaping up to be a good night…
The company was good, the wine and food was great and the band was, as Bridget would say, fabulous. They could play a variety of music, at all different speeds and from a diverse grouping.
Mr. Right and I figured that we would start the dance floor side of things.
Okay, being that Mr. Right hates to be the center of attention, it was all me begging him to get out there with me. He gave in after the promising to … well, never mind. He danced with me.
Now I’m not sure if you have seen my picture yet, but I am a white girl. Even further, I am a Christian white girl who grew up in the Bible belt. Further yet, I am a Christian white girl who grew up in the Bible belt who can’t dance. Where many of my friends spent time at dance clubs and bars, I went bowling, watched movies, hung out with my friends, stayed involved with plays or choir practices and went TP-ing, with the occasional entry onto a school dance floor or a dance club. Needless to say, I have no neat moves in my groove. My grooves are more like a drunk stumbling in the street.
But fortunately for me, I don’t care what others think of me. I just like to have a good time.
I think, however, Mr. Right and I were the only ones who didn't mind looking like fools. We danced three dances, and still no one joined us on the floor. Mr. Right was starting to break out in a sweat. He stuck with me, though. After the third one, he seemed to relax and just enjoy himself. We wound up smiling (laughing) at ourselves. But we had fun!
Eventually, Jeff came out to dance with me and Ray taught me the Pretzel. John and his wife came out and dance a couple of dances too. I think a few people finally got enough liquor in them to try it out.
It was sad that one of the oldest couples (us) with kids (we were one of the few couples who did have kids) were willing to get out there and enjoy ourselves. We saw lots of people watching with the look of wishing to be out there, but they were glued to their chairs.
I refuse to be one of those couples who sit things out because they’ve gotten older or they worry about what others will think. I plan on going out dancing, well if not dancing, then at least with a bit of pizzazz in my step.
I can’t wait until next year’s party… Maybe I’ll get my dance lessons in by then. Then I’ll really cut loose!
You should still watch out for your toes, though. I'll most likely still step on them...
Labels: love
posted by Shalee at 12:51 PM
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