When you work in the outside world you are usually guaranteed at least one night of festive debauchery. You can take the advice of countless magazines and jazz up your work suit with a flash of lacy camisole and a swipe of glittery lipstick, you can kiss the office boy under the mistletoe, insult the bosses secretary and photocopy things that don’t normally see the light of day. Because you can. Because for one night, all responsibility is banished and you can let yourself go and leave mortification for the morning.
By goodness, it’s almost worth joining the workforce for – debauchery is, after all, a talent of mine!
But when you are a work at home mommy, opportunities for festive fun and games are few and far between. You can swing by your apron strings from the chandeliers and don a pair of terrible singing reindeer earrings to wash the dishes, but the kids will laugh at you and slipping a little brandy into the baby’s milk would be severely frowned upon in your local Mums and Tot’s…
So what’s mommy to do? Doesn’t the kind of woman brave enough to endure all day everyday with her children deserve a night off at Christmas? Shouldn’t she be allowed to hike up her skirt, brush a little shimmery something over her decolletage, wear a terrible party hat with all the panache of yesterdays movie star and forget herself for a while? I mean really, who’s gonna throw the Mommys of the world, an office Christmas party?
Me, thats who. I insist on a whole new ritual. So me and the Mommys are once again going out on the town. It’s our very own work’s night out. Complete with rushed Italian meal, christmas crackers and bad hats, screeching laughter, poorly executed wolf whistles at men in ties, bad dancing (anyone for The Chicken Song?) and probably the odd maudlin tale or two to be drowned in another glass of babycham…
All talk of babba’s strictly banned and punishable in the extreme.
Wanna join us? Quattros at eight. I’ll be the one in far too many rows of pearls. See you there…