I have four holiday parties to attend this week. Tuesday was my department's outing, Wednesday was my old company's reunion/get-together, tonight is the big division gala at some hotel ballroom in Jersey, and then Saturday is the best one of all, the traditional Tribe holiday shindig (not to mention The Shivery's performance on Friday!). I hope I get a little less testy before Friday and Saturday roll around, because all of this good cheer is really wearing on my fucking nerves.
It also does not help that this all comes immediately following the (really quite lovely, but mindbendingly exhausting) wedding extravaganza of last weekend -- a rehearsal dinner (way the fuck $50-car-ride away) on Friday, sleeping on the floor of Mike's parents' place Saturday night, and then an all-day-long matrimonial affair on Sunday. Mike was the best man, so he spent a good chunk of his time off with the wedding party, and I fended for myself among all the strangers out in Long Island. I think my favorite part of the day came at the very beginning, when a pinch-nosed saleslady at Men's Wearhouse (god, what in incredibly awful pun) made fun of my shoes. "You look very nice," she says, "very nice...but honestly. What's with those shoes??? We have shoes. We have shoes on sale! Pick out some shoes." I tried to good-naturedly demur, and not scream at her that I happen to really enjoy wearing my black Doc Martens with a suit. And she kept going, bringing over all the other salespeople, pointing at my shoes, and making the "What, is he CRAZY?" face. And as entertaining as this story is already, then she asked me if I have a girlfriend. "No," I say through rapidly clenching teeth. "I don't have a...girlfriend." "Well! No wonder, with those shoes!" she shouts triumphantly.
It was all I could do, my instincts tempered only by the fact that we were at the store to buy someone an emergency suit (he was videotaping the ceremony, I think, and his girlfriend did not pack his suit for him, which begs the question: Why the fuck is this guy not packing his own suitcase???), to not narrow my eyes at this woman and icily tell her that no, I do not have a girlfriend, but when I fuck my boyfriend he likes me to keep the boots on.
I like to think that my forbearance is the only reason this guy got a suit at all, and hence, I singlehandedly saved the wedding. I doubt I can even get into the guy wearing a purple velour zip-up sweater who also made fun of my shoes during the reception, so suffice to say, that happened too.