Friday night was the Thunderbird Christmas party, eagerly awaited by most as a chance to tie one on and celebrate the end of a successful year with a ‘Best of British’ theme to mark an epic 2012.
After having a dress stress about the hundred and one party dresses in my wardrobe I bought one from an eBay shop on impulse and was preparing myself to get it home and try it on before deciding I hated it for some spurious reason and then having to pay through the nose to send it back. I ignored all the good advice from friends and when the dress arrived, I couldn’t help but go to the work toilets and try it on. To my utter surprise and shock I loved it, even when shuffling round the work loo with my jeans round my ankles! It was from Dress190 who I cannot recommend highly enough for beautiful dresses and brilliant customer service.
A hectic week on call commenced and by the time Friday rolled around I was tired, I was crabby and I just wanted to stay at home in my PJ’s, not go and socialise whilst wearing rib to knee pants made out of trampoline material. I had my hair done and didn’t like it, I painted my nails and smudged them, I ironed my dress and then Lily fell asleep on it, it would have been so easy to call it a day and clamber into bed before pulling the duvet over my head. Instead I wriggled into my Spanx, popped on my petticoat and after asking my house mate whether my arse looked big in my dress (her response ‘you can’t SEE your arse, so no) I slapped on a smile and posed for the obligatory picture:
I headed over to B’s and after some last minute dress drama involving an errant shoulder pad and a few glasses of bubbly we hopped in a cab down to the Mayflower Suite at the De Vere Grand Harbour to be met by our RD and his wife, a glass of champers, and these two characters:
We mingled at the bar and cooed over everyone’s outfits, with special mention to the girls who came as the Spice Girls and a festive fun times gold star to the colleague who told his wife that ‘Best of British’ fancy dress was compulsory… It was their first Christmas party with the company and they were dressed as Zippy and Bungle! Mrs Colleague took it in great spirits however I’m sure there were a few cross words when they got home.
The main room itself looked fantastic with fairground stalls around the edge like hook-a-duck, a coconut shy, a shooting range and a test your strength dinger in the corner. There were also big screens playing the Olympic opening ceremony throughout the course of the evening and an awesome Beatles tribute band who really got the party started.
At dinner there was banter, there was drinking, there was some flirting and silliness and I branded the colleague sat to my left with a big red lipstick kiss on his cheek which turned out to be the first of many. Once dinner was over we scattered to check out the stalls and I got two out of three ducks on my first attempt. Heck yes.
After dinner, my friend and I headed to the James Bond cocktail bar for some Pussy Galore (fnar fnar) which was more opportunity for yours truly to try and squeeze all my layers through increasingly small gaps. I have to admit though, I loved wearing the dress in all its poofy OTT glory. I felt like a Princess for the night.
Unfortunately my stomach had other ideas and I knew that sooner rather than later I was going to be on my knees in the ladies for a non man based kinky reason. It came sooner than I thought and after sipping some water to try and settle things down I had to ditch my friend before high tailing it to the disabled cubicle, hitching my skirts up and quietly throwing my guts up whilst a colleague dressed as Baby Spice and her sister who was Sporty stood at the sinks chatting and hopefully not realising what was occurring.
It wasn’t even eleven thirty and I knew it was game over for me. I had to say my goodbyes and disappear to a waiting taxi before I turned into a pumpkin. Not before I branded four more colleagues with big red smoochy lipstick marks though.
Once home it was time to unravel my crispy hair from hell before leaning over the bath and trying to shampoo all the hairspray out. Mid spray there was a knock at the door and a little scared voice said ‘Hello?’ It was my house mate, convinced I was a burglar here to rob them blind after washing her hair because of course I wasn’t expected home so early.
Once I’d wiped an entire make up counter off my face I hopped into bed, feeling sad my night had ended so abruptly, but happy I’d felt so wonderful whilst I was out on the tiles. I drifted off to sleep content in the knowledge that I hadn’t made a dick of myself and could go into work on Monday without ‘THE FEAR’.
Until I looked in the mirror the next day…