(Start with "Monday" if you can. Did you see "It's a Wonderful Life" the other night? No, I'm not sure there's a connection either.) So, what were we talking about? Oh right. The pitfalls of attending the company holiday party. Specifically: The dangers of bringing along a gabby-when-drunk spouse who, when he throws up in front of your coworkers, might accidentally let some of your intimate infertility secrets slip out with the scotch.
I mentioned yesterday that I'm not a drinker. Have no interest in it. Couldn't be bothered. My motto has always been "When people start getting stupid it's time to go." I'm starting to rethink my motto. Because when people start getting stupid, the company holiday party finally starts getting good.
We walk into these company soirees fearing the worst. What if somebody brings up our not having kids issue? Or one of our coworker acquaintances will ask in a pseudo-caring way: "You're not drinking are you? Aren't you still doing IVF?" and mouth the "IVF" part.
The beauty of many infertility-related terms is that they don't mouth well. What I mean is: Let's say this woman at the party is pretending to be discreet. She doesn't want to shout out the words through the party noise: "Hormones!" or "Fertility!" or "IVF!", so instead of saying it out loud, she just mouths the word. It's almost impossible to figure out any of those words, (Give it a go, you'll see) unlike curse words which are clear to everyone. So, this gives us the option of playing dumb for a long time. Especially if there's loud music playing and a fun DJ who keeps yelling "Paaartyyyy!" into the microphone.
"What?! Aren't I still doing what? Yoga?! Did you say yoga?! Yes I'm still doing yoga! So let her go on and on mouthing, trying different words to get her point across: "In-vitro?" "Fertility drugs?" "What Celine Dion did."
Just promise me that when, in desperation, she gets to "Assisted Reproductive Technologies" you'll just walk away. For chrissake, show the woman some mercy.
I once was at a holiday party where a few of my female coworkers clustered. They didn't even have the decency to stop talking about me as I approached. In their buzzed state, they just slipped into their second language: "Ixnay on the Abybay Alktay." The odd thing is: They all know my degree is in Foreign Languages. Did they think that in my pursuit to master the romance languages, I somehow lost my proficiency of pig latin?
So all of this fear of the unknown: "What will somebody say?" "Will I be put in an awkward situation?" "Will I feel forced into saying more than I want?" "What if I start crying?"...These are the pre-10:30 P.M. fears. Circa 10:30 P.M., the first signs of inebriation start to show from the first wave of party arrivees. Now the fun starts.
First there will be the mention of the unfortunate clothing choices. Your size 16 general manager perhaps should not have worn a size 6 purple sequined mini skirt and a tube top (in December).
At about 11 PM, the twenty year old shy guy from accounting will be talking both sht and poetry into her cleavage. By 11:30, he'll be setting his drinks in there. Nobody will have any recollection of seeing either of them after that. Around midnight, people will start leaving and a few might note that his car is gone yet her car is still in the parking lot.
And you and your humdrum infertility issues are off the hook for another year.
Listen, I gotta go. There are ten more shopping days before Christmas and I have to "Mapquest" the furthest point from any mall in the state.
I'll talk with ya again tomorrow.