My company Christmas party is tons of fun.  Tons.  The boys wear suits, the girls wear high heels, and we all show up after work, like little kids who are playing dress-up in mom and dad’s closet, magically clean and unwrinkled.  With pants that are of an appropriate length.  (I work in a field where men are notorious for wearing their pants too short.)

We dance.  And we get drunk.

Last year I took my husband.  And The Crush.  It wasn’t planned.  Crushboy asked me at work that day if we could pick him up.  I said ok.  Husband said ok.  It was all ok.  Already my husband had reservations, because I told him how much I liked Crushboy.  I was trying to be honest.  Anyhow.  I got hammered.  Crushboy got hammered.  Crushboy and I danced a whole lot.  I may have touched his arm a little too much.  Husband was not impressed and although I had a great time dancing the night away, the flirting that went on did not go unnoticed.

This year was so, so different.  I went without a husband.  Crushboy did not go.  (For no good reason, he claimed that he didn’t know if he’d be in town.  He might have been lazy to get dressed up.  He might have been afraid that I’d hit on him.  He might have been afraid that he’d want to jump me.)  However, crushboy did offer to give me and the friends that I went with, a ride home, because taxis are not always easy to find in this city around Christmastime…  We did not take him up on the offer.

I got dressed up.  I looked good.  I wore heels.  I danced in the heels.  I drank lots of alcohol.  I did not get off the dance floor.  Not once did I have to worry about my date being happy, because check it, there was no date to worry about.  I was free to dance with whomever I chose.  (Last year I had to ask the husband if he was ok with me asking other people do dance.)

So a year later, I’m having more fun.  Feeling prettier.  Living better.