Ms Work Christmas Party

To take the edge off, Jodee necks two bottles of Yellowglen Pink before her work Christmas party. She isn't sure if her dress is too revealing, but given that she is showing off more skin than a serial killer's latest interior make-up over, you can safely bet it is. 

Within minutes of entering the function room, Jodee has a glass of bubbly in her hand and is making flirtatious chit chat with a couple of managers. The pot-bellied leer-lords take a big bite out of the cleavage buffet on offer and whisper inappropriate nothings to her. Each greased up comment sets her off like a Hyena on a helium bender. The sound of her cackling is suddenly silenced by the ominous shattering of her dropped grass. It has begun.

An office meathead yells “taxi” while a flurry of designated drivers and office matriarchs swarm upon the glassy hazard. Jodee is too drunk to feel shame and decides to make her move on one of the few single men in her office that don't need to freebase Viagra. He is unimpressed with Jodee’s ungracious slurring and snidely encourages her to “take it easy, ay”.

She drowns her sorrows and in a rapid landslide of emotion, her face begins resembling the Joker on the wrong end of a super soaker. Her work friends console the blubbering mess while she serenades them with a sonnet of self-pity. The girls try to sober her up but Jodee has a better idea. She stumbles like a T-Rex into the toilet and feasts upon a nice fat line of powdery dexampheta-yum.

Jodee emerges from her shame cocoon as a turbocharged cougar. She hits the d-floor and showcases dance moves that she pioneered while being grinded on at 3am at The Clink. Luckily for all, the music cuts out for the speeches. Red-faced directors slur out a few insincere pleasantries and then the bubbly office manager grabs the mic to make an announcement, “congratulations to Kim and Mike on their engagement!”

Jodee feels the jealous clock on her biological time bomb ticking, “HA! I Sucked his dick at the End of Financial Year party! HA”. Sweet Jesus. The room is tenser than the bicep in a gym selfie. Jodee’s entire cohort is staring at her while she puts the final touch on her disasterpiece: a power-yak all over the pin-striped bum-groper standing uncomfortably close to her.

The next day, Jodee experiences the holy trinity of the loser: hungover, jobless and shamed. Looks like it’ll have to be another Chrisco Christmas hamper this year ay, Jodee?

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