Tonight’s our annual office “Christmas” party, (I guess management didn’t bother to read the politically correct memo.) The invitation clearly states spouses and dates aren’t invited because of the economy – which is basically code for the CEO’s not wanting their wives around when they hit on the cute receptionists. While everyone else is spending hours getting professional hair and makeup and then squeezing into their Spanx, (male CEO’s included) I’ll be home carbo-loading for the open bar. Now I love a sparkly party dress as much as the next girl, or drag queen, but there isn’t anyone at the office I want to impress -- or bonk. Tonight I abdicate sex appeal, in favor comfort. This year I’m wearing a Santa suit.

Not a sexy Santa suit from Fredrick’s, I’m talking tacky, red velvet and acrylic fur from China. Cheap material that’ll be off-gassing so many toxic chemicals, I’ll be completely wasted before I even get to the party. No more teetering on heels that turn my toes blue, no-siree bob. I’ll be stomping ‘round the dance floor in my Doc Martens, rubbing my padded Santa belly on the asses of my drunk, dirty dancing co-workers. If I spill my luke-warm chicken entrée onto my lap, ho, ho, ho, who cares, this suit was $17 at Big Lots. Around midnight when everyone’s up-do’s are down-don'ts, my Santa wig curls will still be photo-ready.

I’m grateful for our office Holiday party – err, I mean, Christmas party (since we don’t have anyone at the office who’s Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Kwanzian or anything other than good ‘ole Christian from Western Europe) is actually going to be fun. I know what you’re thinking: But won’t you feel out of place, dare I say uncomfortable? To politely answer your question, and thank you for asking so nicely – hell no. Without a Santa of a doubt, I’ll be the only girl who is comfortable.

That’s why I’m grateful for our office Christmas party.