Operation Mini-Skirt Status: -38.6 lbs.
Mood: Surprisingly philosophical about it, actually... considering I gained four point six pounds since Wednesday!
So, the Christmas party. Actually, first I should start with Friday afternoon, which was the annual office potluck. Oh... God... I was so happy... So very, very happy! I decided to chuck the diet for 48 hours, and make an utter glutton of myself. That would give me time to thoroughly enjoy the offerings of my colleagues, as well as the renowned fare at the Christmas party on Saturday night. Yes, I'm paying for it, but Lordy was it worth it. For anyone who actually doubted my theory... tsk tsk tsk. It turns out I was absolutely right. Food is love. Smoked salmon, tortellini a la panna, Thai noodles, and leg of lamb... cheese, cheese and more cheese! So much wonderful cheese! Brie, cheddar, blue... oh and the desserts! Apple crumble and chocolate fudge... marble cakes and ice cream! So much to eat... and I totally partook... and I was so very happy! Anyway, in that vein, you should understand that any sense of self-discipline went out the window, and it's only by luck alone that I don't have a more sordid story to tell. As it stands now, I've nothing to relay but tales of mighty flirtation, succulent and delectable food/love, and fabulous dancing.
Oh, and a human bite mark on my neck.
Right, from the top, shall we?
Saturday afternoon, Mandy and Sleyefox came over for coffee and calm downs. That is, I gave them coffee, and they calmed me down. Listen, it wasn't the party itself that was freaking me out. It wasn't the fact that I was going with Vanilla either, because he's just a wonderful guy who's a great friend. No, my problem was this: all my life, I've dressed to camouflage. Does it hide my arse? I'd worry to myself as I stood sideways in front of a mirror. Does it make me look matronly? Do I look horribly fat or just very fat? Should I choose a dress that's a different colour from the major appliances, or will you be able to tell me apart from the machines? You think I'm kidding, don't you? So now, for the first time ever, I wasn't just neglecting to camouflage, I was actually aiming for something... attractive? Flattering? *gulp* Sexy, even?
Tiny straps and an unforgiving cut of dress... satin doesn't hide your faults, after all... you'll have to understand why I felt a little naked.
And just so we cut to the chase... I don't want to leave you in suspense... after I'd done the hair thing, the manicure thing, the makeup thing... after I'd donned the jewellery and slipped into the satin sheath, finally stepped into the shoes... I stood in front of the full-length mirror that had seen me worry countless times, gave myself a once-over, and actually said, aloud, "Jaysus. You're freakin' hot."
It's a whole new world when you look that good, you know?
So... onto the rest of the evening. Let me say this first, and foremost. Vanilla is THE most perfect date in the world, ever. For all the reasons I asked him to come in the first place, and more. He's easy on the eyes, and a great conversationalist. I could mingle away from his side, and know that he'd be perfectly fine without me, making brilliant and witty remarks to whoever was standing next to him. He knew when to have a drink, and when to stop drinking. His manners are impeccable. He even asked me if there are any fibs or white lies he should know about, as it was my night and he wanted to play along! God, how cool is that? Oh... and we danced... oh, how we danced! The guy is better than I thought! He's a really strong lead, so we were able to do a little merengue... a hint of salsa... even a little hustle here and there. Frankly, he totally indulged my basic need to call attention to myself, show off on the dance floor, and try to impress as many people as possible. (The fact that he didn't mention my need for attention is an obvious cry for therapy makes him evermore the perfect gentleman!) There really isn't anything more you can ask for is there? I'm telling you, what I'd like to do is clone Vanilla, and then start a business called Perfect Dates, Ltd. I'd make a killing. A killing, I tell you!
So... on with the evening... which I more or less remember most of...ugh there is a reason dieters don't drink! There was some wine involved... and I think there was a cosmopolitan or two... and then, oh God, some more wine... and a couple of shots of Jagermeister... and Goldschlager... oh, man, and then I spotted the Glenfiddich behind the bar, and decided that I really needed to feel the velvety smoothness of a single malt going down my throat... and then I looked over, and there was one of the consultants - not quite a piranha, a lovely lad whom I quite enjoy... and I said, "Dollface, (dollface?!) you look like you need one of these too." It was a notion he agreed with, and when I moseyed over to give him a warm hug full of seasonal felicitations (what was I thinking?), he bit me! Oh, don't get me wrong - it was drunk and playful nipping at my neck that I wouldn't have let happen if I'd refrained from having that last couple of drinks... but I guess he didn't know his own strength... The next morning, I woke up and realised that every time I turned my head to the left, there was an incredibly sore and tender spot on my neck. Upon further inspection, I found a very faint but perfectly formed human bite mark. I kid you not. The bastard bit me. So much for not being a piranha... I think the wisest thing of all would be to not remind him of it, though. No big deal. It's not like he actually drew blood...
So that was my Christmas party. Vanilla and I danced our arses off; I ate far too much and drank a bit too much, and had a fabulous time.
Sunday, as expected, was spent in a state of recovery.
Have a wonderful day, everyone.
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