By my age, I should know better
I arrived at work this morning to find that I was the talk of the office. Friday night was the office Christmas do, and in tribute to the fact that I feel relatively more comfortable with this group of colleagues than I have done with any group of workmates since I left the pub trade I went out with them and got quite soundly drunk. Red wine flowed freely, and by the end of the night I was feeling quite relaxed in the company of the people I work with - something that for me is extremely rare. There was some lovely food, some belly dancing (by a professional, not by me - no-one needs to see that), and some giggles had by all.
However, things degenerated after our taxi collected us from the post-restaurant pub. As we approached my house for my drop-off (and my one colleague, G, who was being picked up by his girlfriend near my house) I rummaged through my bag to find my purse and found nothing. I was very grateful to G for picking up my portion of the cab fare, expecting that I was just being tipsy and a bit less than usually thorough in my search and that when I got in the house I would find it. I stood with G at the curb and chatted whilst he waited for his lift and found myself drunkenly drawn to his packet of fags which he readily offered. Having not smoked a cigarette in about three months, I had a massive headrush and felt instantly sick - quite a nice reaction actually, since I now have no desire to repeat the experience.
G shooed me off home, telling me that his lift was just around the corner and since it was raining to get back home. As I glanced over my shoulder to bid him farewell, my foot slipped off the kerb and I stumbled across the road. The main road. The main road full of traffic. In spite of his hilarity (and telling me this morning that his first thought was "haha! You're more drunk than me!") he leapt out into the road to stop the traffic long enough for me to scrape myself off the tarmac. I then shuffled off, embarrassed, without a backwards glance, which he apparently found even more hysterically funny.
And to top it all off, he gets in to work at 8am and I don't get in until 9, so he'd already told half the office by the time I'd arrived.
Having gotten into the house on Friday, a more detailed search of my bag showed up no purse, and a call to the restaurant yielded nothing. I was inconsolable by this point - I'd lost my ring first, now this. I was a total waste of space, should never be allowed out, couldn't be trusted with anything. And so I continued until J managed to get me upstairs and into bed just after midnight...
I finally got around to cancelling my cards and re-ordering my driver's licence last night, and arrived at work this morning to find that one of my colleagues had picked up my purse off the floor in the pub and didn't have an number on which to contact me and had even tried Directory Enquiries to see if we were listed to let me know that it was safe. All's well that ends well, I guess. Even if I did make a twat of myself in the process.
However, things degenerated after our taxi collected us from the post-restaurant pub. As we approached my house for my drop-off (and my one colleague, G, who was being picked up by his girlfriend near my house) I rummaged through my bag to find my purse and found nothing. I was very grateful to G for picking up my portion of the cab fare, expecting that I was just being tipsy and a bit less than usually thorough in my search and that when I got in the house I would find it. I stood with G at the curb and chatted whilst he waited for his lift and found myself drunkenly drawn to his packet of fags which he readily offered. Having not smoked a cigarette in about three months, I had a massive headrush and felt instantly sick - quite a nice reaction actually, since I now have no desire to repeat the experience.
G shooed me off home, telling me that his lift was just around the corner and since it was raining to get back home. As I glanced over my shoulder to bid him farewell, my foot slipped off the kerb and I stumbled across the road. The main road. The main road full of traffic. In spite of his hilarity (and telling me this morning that his first thought was "haha! You're more drunk than me!") he leapt out into the road to stop the traffic long enough for me to scrape myself off the tarmac. I then shuffled off, embarrassed, without a backwards glance, which he apparently found even more hysterically funny.
And to top it all off, he gets in to work at 8am and I don't get in until 9, so he'd already told half the office by the time I'd arrived.
Having gotten into the house on Friday, a more detailed search of my bag showed up no purse, and a call to the restaurant yielded nothing. I was inconsolable by this point - I'd lost my ring first, now this. I was a total waste of space, should never be allowed out, couldn't be trusted with anything. And so I continued until J managed to get me upstairs and into bed just after midnight...
I finally got around to cancelling my cards and re-ordering my driver's licence last night, and arrived at work this morning to find that one of my colleagues had picked up my purse off the floor in the pub and didn't have an number on which to contact me and had even tried Directory Enquiries to see if we were listed to let me know that it was safe. All's well that ends well, I guess. Even if I did make a twat of myself in the process.