Friday night was my department’s holiday party. In the three years I’ve worked for the hospital I’ve never gone to this bash. Mostly because I know very few people in the department. Since my office isn’t in the hospital, besides a few people I deal with on a regular basis, I don’t know too many people in Radiology.
But for some reason this year Matt and I decided to go. Or rather I said, “Would you smother me in my sleep if we went to my work’s holiday party?” Since I actually knew a handful of people who RSVP’ed “Yes” I thought it could be fun. Not to mention free drinks and food are always in the “win” column.
The party was being held at the Concourse Hotel in downtown Madison. Yes, this is a nice, almost fancy hotel but it’s also still in MADISON. The home of hippies, liberals and casual dress.
Even so I asked my friend Amy, who has been to this gig many times in the past, if jeans were OK. To which she replied “Totally! There’s everything from jeans to tuxes.”
So Matt and I set off for the party in our finest pair of denim.
After we checked out coats and obscured our drink tickets we entered the… BALLROOM!
Immediately my stomach dropped. This was like a wedding. A FORMAL WEDDING! I secretly looked for William and Kate to round the corner.
Matt and I looked at each other, faces now green as we searched the crowd.
There were only three people wearing jeans. Meet #1 who is engaged to #2. Number 3 was some other dude, who was in jeans but also a BLAZER! Therefore negating the jeans.
Everyone else was either in cocktail dresses, ties, jackets and even a couple doctors in tuxes.
I prayed the earth would open up and swallow me whole. Matt could fend for himself.
When in doubt, drink. So we slinked up to the bar hoping beyond hope no one would think we were crashing this shin-dig because again, out of the 500 people there, I recognized maybe five.
Those friends I thought were coming didn’t show up.
While I was plotting their demise and Matt was plotting our early escape, we ran into Ben’s first baseball coach and his wife, Vicki. I had forgotten she was in also Radiology.
Like a child finding their lost parent, I hugged these lovely friends a little too hard. As I whispered, “jeans!” and pointed south, Steve graciously said, “Oh, I’m wearing jeans under these pants.”
Therefore Matt and I globed onto them like Kate Gosselin to reality TV.
Once seated at dinner, we relaxed a little because no one could see our legs under the table. Until we realized it was a buffet.
Me: Are we even that hungry?
Matt: Think someone can get us food?
Me: What choice do we have?! We can’t possibly expose The Jeans again.
Somehow we made it through the buffet line. I tried to jack down my blouse in hopes that my boobs would take away from the unsightly scene on my lower half.
Promptly after dinner our savers of life friends left for their son’s basketball game.
With Matt and I now stuck at a table of strangers, still in our jeans, we looked at each other and said, “Let’s go! Now!”
I happily abandoned my half full glass of wine.
As we grabbed our coats and flew out of the ballroom, Matt said, “Do you hear that? That applause and cheering?”
“Ah yes, it’s the sound of rejoice that The Jeans have left the building.”
With our tails between our denim we went home. And by home I mean to our bar.
Where we were perfectly dressed.
