Last night was our company Xmas party. It was great to kick up my heels with these people who all work so hard together through the year.
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The event was at the Steamwhistle brewery, a converted old railyard roundhouse. So the beer flowed free and I drank my head off, as you do at these things. I wore my kilt, so I got the requisite question and some grabbing, but I didn’t get to be inappropriate because the one guy I fancied… Well, you know. He’s in the other 96%. So I got to watch him try to score all evening, then finally succeed.
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Of course, getting entangled on these trips is a bad idea, I know that from experience. Last night at the party a friend gave me an update on the fella from a few Christmases ago. He’s happily involved. I was indifferent when she told me, but I must confess that this morning I feel less indifferent. (For future reference, I never want these updates.)
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Drink makes things important that aren’t.
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Now I’m on an airplane, rehydrating a hangover with a plastic glass of ice water. A million thanks go to my teammate Shannon, who drove me to the airport. I dread to think what a shambles I would have been if I had to get there on public transit with my overweight bag and three hours’ sleep. Thanks also to Lisa and Alvaro, whose medicine cabinet I raided this morning for some Tylenol. I figured they owed me: their puppy pissed on my bed.
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I’ve had lots of requests over the past few days for me to move back to Toronto, which would be far too easy. But no, Scotland is calling me home.
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For now, I’m off to see my family, and I can’t wait.
