So, the wife and I had our inaugural holiday party on Saturday. Since we just bought our house in May, this was something of a big deal. A quiet little get together, some wine, some beer, some tasty hors d'ouevres . Started at six. About 10-15 people. Some soft music.
Right.
Couple of things I left out. Like the fact that we were dog-sitting for our friend Kristen. And we already have two dogs. Thus, three dogs barreling around the house looking for snacks.
Like the fact that I thought a bottle of Bushmills and a bottle of Bailey's would be a sophisticated addition to the little event.
Like the fact that my friends run the gamut between borderline drinking problem and full-blown alcoholics.
Needless to say, my wife passed out at 10:30. Only to get up at 2:00, stagger downstairs and proceed to DO THE DISHES. She's a bit of a neat freak, even when hammered. Next thing I knew it was 4:30 in the morning and my house looked like the aftermath of the Battle of Verdun. Bodies lying everywhere, a preposterous number of empty beer bottles, no more whiskey, no more Baileys, no more wine (including our "not-for-parties" stash). Dogs curled up with guests.
Basically, dogs and cats, living together... mass hysteria! I finally staggered to bed after extinguishing the bum fire I had set in my barbeque. Woke up the next morning to my now perky and bright-eyed wife. Wanted to die, but couldn't summon the strength to take my own life. But the wife, bless her Irish heart, proceeded to make eggs and bacon for the whole hungover crew.
Spent the rest of the day either napping or watching the Pats destroy the Texans. All in all, a good time. But not one I can repeat very often. Except, of course, until my friend Jai's New Year's party.
Happy holidays, everyone.
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