at last, a Christmas party where Scrooge won’t attend

Just call me Mrs. S. Claus. Without the fleshy rolls.

All last night I was up to no all good. Baking up goodies like so many elves churning out wooden cars painted yellow and blue with black wheels and red pull strings. Difference is, mine are edible.

This afternoon's the office Christmas party.

Let me state emphatically and enthusiastically that this Christmas party is unlike parties we've all encountered. Parties where:

(a) you're obligated to attend. Office politics. Don't and your only Christmas gift will be a knife in the back.
(b) you're forced to attend. Sure, they close the office but take head count at the venue.
(c) it's not your party but you're crying your eyes out anyhow. Because it's no one's party. It's the one held in a conference room. Where you have exactly an hour. There's no booze. It hardly matters 'cause you wouldn't drink with your coworkers anyway. Or you detest management. Or both. And after an hour of merriment ("merriment"), it's back to work. This is the Christmas party I know best. In fact was my last employee Christmas party some … {counting} four years ago.

I'm earning none of the money I was then but boy is my job now a radical improvement in the spirit, kindness and generosity of the bosses and kinship of the employees. And the party will be grand in spirit, fun and goodness.

It starts at 2:30, at their office (in a large old home). There's no going back to work. I checked. Because I've been under another's whip so long, I'm still adjusting to the concept of employer kindness and humanity.

It'll be pizza and beer. It won't be Pizza Hut and Bud. We're speculating quality pizza from a place with a brick oven. And good beer 'cause these guys like to drink.

There could be other snackies. If not, no matter because we are set for dessert thanks to my Mrs. Claus hands. I baked up double batches of chocolate fudge and Mexican wedding cakes.

 

And for the dogs — my bosses are animal lovers and Magic, the black Great Dane, and Grayson, the bouncing English sheepdog pup, are family members and always present at the office — are homemade peanut butter doggie biscuits in the shape of a rocking-horse cookie cutter.

I've been looking forward to this party for weeks. I'd go out drinking with any one of my coworkers and the bosses, I like 'em all that much. I hear one boss gets hilarious when he's been imbibing, regaling listeners with stories of old-town Tacoma and her characters, and the other boss gets really super-chatty, which is entertaining to imagine since he's got to be a double Gemini on the quietest of days.

'Tis the season of giving.

And the giving is good when it pours forth from the heart with pleasure, with gratitude, with awareness of the blessings bestowed upon ye.

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