Day three: Your office Christmas party is tonight and although you woke up feeling even worse than yesterday, (“IT’S JUST A SMALL COLD, OKAY”) you are determined to show up. You rush-ordered an $80 denim jumpsuit for this party and it came just in time. Although you ordered a size up from the size you regularly wear, to your horror, the jumpsuit will not zip up all the way. Your force your boyfriend to crocodile-wrestle the zipper into submission and he manages to finally, sweating and panting, get it closed. You resent this jumpsuit.
The office Christmas party is two hours away in San Antonio and will be an overnight affair. You lie down in the backseat of a rented BMW and try not to breathe too hard, lest the jumpsuit decide to rebel and take up its quest for freedom from the cruel reign of your back fat. Although you have a pounding headache and are mysteriously both very hot and very cold, you close your eyes and focus on mindfulness. Your coworker who is driving decides to play trap music very loudly for the entire ride. You struggle to focus on mindfulness.
Day three, two hours later: At the hotel, drinking a glass of wine with your boss, she says, “Love the jumpsuit. How are you going to pee, though? You’re practically glued into that thing.” You look over and see the look of abject horror on your boyfriend’s face. “We forgot about pee,” he says.
Day three, one hour later: Having not properly planned for this disaster, you are now in ripped jeans and a man’s undershirt at cocktail hour. You lose your voice while engaged in a vigorous discussion with your boss’s wife about the murky ethics of second-hand fur coats. “Not to worry,” you think. “Nothing a cigarette can’t solve.” This is fundamentally the opposite of the truth, but this makes sense, because you are a fool.