The cookie-induced incident

Holiday parties are everywhere this time of year. Work, family and friends all hop on the party wagon for some festive fun. I’m all for eggnog, fatty foods and Christmas music, I even like the wacky holiday sweaters. However, what I’m really looking for at a holiday party is a mistake. A mistake that will leave me saying: “Why oh why did I drink so much? That party was awesome!” or “Why oh why did I eat so many cookies? That party was awesome!” or “Why oh why did I hook up with my supervisor? That party was awesome!” Okay, the last item has never happened. Have I wanted it to? Of course!

Each holiday party I go to I hope to meet a wonderfully mysterious dude to hook up with in the coat check. Of course I never make a move to initiate this to happen but it is one of my fantasies and you can’t judge me for that. Well, you can, but that isn’t nice. A few weeks ago I had a holiday party with my roommate and best friend. We made entirely too much food, had too much alcohol supplied, and too much drama broke out. I was looking forward to meeting a friend of a friend of a friend and inviting him into my room and wooing him with my complete Full House series collection. Unfortunately, the party consisted of the same incestuous group that is always hanging out in my apartment. Don’t you guys have friends for me?

This past Friday my work had a Christmas party in a fancy ballroom. Dragging along my best friend I boasted in the parking lot as we were walking in “I hope I hook up with someone in the coat check!” Laughing at me, Matt knew I would never do such a thing. A girl can dream.

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Just hope this lady isn’t planning on sticking around.

Finally my opportunity had presented itself at a holiday party over the weekend. This is a story of disappointment, sex and betrayal.

A cookie decorating holiday party doesn’t exactly scream sex or anything really sexy for that matter, unless you bake penis cookies, which we didn’t. But there I was, wearing a little dress and tights with flats. I looked adorable and sexy all rolled into one (she says modestly.) I hoped this party would have people I’ve never met before so I had to get prepped to meet my party mistake. After a few awkward greetings and name exchanges I was familiar with everyone at the party. Upon further inspection I realized I had met everyone on separate occasions at different times. Disappointment started to set in. Batting my eyelashes at a few possibilities I was beginning to give up hope. SUDDENLY! I was sharing a story of sex and fetishes (oh “Tub Girl,” you have provided me for many years a cocktail story) when I sparked someone’s interest. Lester* was attractive, smart and in his mid-thirties. JAYNE BAIT as I like to refer to him as. Lester asked me more about said Tub Girl and we exchanged laughs and winks. Smitten!

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Festive!

The party was starting to slow down a bit with people leaving for other commitments. I text Matt suggesting he probably shouldn’t come. Then it happened. Lester strolled over to me and sat on my lap. HE FELL DIRECTLY INTO MY LAP. I giggled, he laughed, and party-goers nervously smiled. Conversing quietly, Lester came out and said I was hot. Blushing, I thanked him. Of course many women would probably slap a guy for invading their space and coming on to them so directly. But unlike many women this NEVER happens to me. I’m always the funny girl, never the desired girl. I pulled my phone out of my bra (something that really amused Lester) and text Matt to come to the party, things just got interesting. I started feeling the eyes of judgmental peers so I felt the need to straighten up a bit. I gently laid my scarf across my lap to cover my stems, feeling a bit exposed. Ripping the scarf from my legs, Lester proclaimed “Don’t cover up! Keep that off!” Lester received a verbal lashing from a woman across the room. “Oh goodness, no, really, he’s fine.” I assured the woman. Matt finally arrived at the party and he shook his head at me soon as he walked through the door. I couldn’t stop smiling and blushing, but I was thankful for him coming. I prompted Matt to sit between Lester and me, which he complied. Lester leaned over Matt during conversation and reminded me how hot I am. At that very moment Matt nearly spit out his drink, which later he assured me he was laughing out of embarrassment for never hearing a man call me that. Thanks, buddy.

The night simmered down again and I was feeling the need to pull away. I wanted this guy badly and I knew it would be a problem. A huge problem. I gave the WE NEED TO GO! look to Matt. We packed up our things and said our goodbyes. Lester showed disappointment in our decision to leave, to which he promptly invited us to his New Year’s party. I looked to Matt as if I were saying “That could be fun!” He shook his head and laughed. Lester and I hugged goodbye and we walked out the front door.

Walking down the sidewalk I said to Matt “OH MY GOD. Why are they ALWAYS married?” Lester. Was. Married. The woman in the party giving him the verbal lashing-his wife. HIS FUCKING WIFE. This man, this beautiful specimen of a man, was married. Scum, sure, for flirting with another woman in front of his wife. But lovely scum, delightful scum, scum that made me feel so good about myself that I wanted to be a mistress.

*Names have been changed to save face.