It’s way late. Like, well past midnight.
I could have done this much earlier. But I didn’t get out of bed till after 10:00 on this Saturday morning.
(So worthless. I obviously still have no shame.)
Then I laid around till 3:00.
When I had to run some clothes to the dry-cleaners before they closed.
In my pajamas.
I had to thow’em my skirt I giggled red wine on last night. I am so classy.
(Thank you, Jesus for letting Mr. Dry Cleaner Man know me already.)
Uh, huh. I thought I got it all out with the club soda, but not quite all. He said they could do it though. If they can’t, I deserve it.
Last night was the 5th Annual Ladies Holiday Get-Together the smart sister and I do every year.
Years ago, it started off as just ladies from the work-joint.
Then a year or so later, a few friends of friends started getting invited.
This year, we added our lady-men friends to the list.
(Our “lady-men” friends.)
(My competition for the spot light now at my own parties? Gay men.)
(I know, right?)
Each year is better than the last. Every single time.
This is the time I can indulge in a little too much wine and totally get away with making an ass of myself in front of these people and not feel guilty. They’re used to it by now.
Not that I feel guilty when I do it at the work-joint. I just don’t drink red wine there.
That’s a totally different kind of ass-making thing.
Who hosts a ladies holiday party with lady-men and has no gag gifts?
Not me and the smart sister. You shoulda known that.
My little gift-bagged up delight was…you guessed it:
They fought for it.
I’m surprised I wasn’t requesting to have red wine AND blood removed from my skirt.
Divas and gay men will bust up a new set of acrylics for a tiara and not think twice about it. Trust me on that.
I got a candle.
And I ain’t complaining. I’ve been burning it all day. Smells scrumpt. But I’m too lazy to go see what scent it is.
I know it’s burgundy-colored. But that probably doesn’t mean much.
So, this is the reason for my sleeping in and then dragging around like a beat up cat all day.
(I don’t know where that came from either.)
Get this. Only three glasses of red wine.
Am I a cheap date or what?
Don’t answer that.
Especially if we’ve gone out before.