with in the past, or slept with. Oh, the stress. You can’t serve people a trough of goulash and dumplings in that sort of scenario. Finger nosh it must be, or a cheeseboard. Want to find out why Roquefort is a cheese you ordinarily have little to do with? Buy a festive cheeseboard and explore.
Also, make sure you have something for the vegans. Having recently met many stick-thin people (women) who claim to be vegan, I’m convinced the expression ‘I’m a vegan’ is the modern euphemism for ‘please don’t make me eat, or I’ll feel I’m losing control’. They live in hope that you, the host, won’t have a vegan option.
I snuggled under the duvet, happy to have missed the Christmas party chit-chat and that ‘one too many’ drink
So produce a platter of delux festively calorific vegan vol-au-vents, mention they were purchased especially with them in mind, and insist all be eaten or your trip to Iceland (the shop not the country) was in vain. Then enjoy the vegan discomfort as the look on their faces says, ‘Ugh, eating. Dirty habit. Big bottom, ahoy. Help.’
Speaking of which — it’s party season, and you can tell because the gym’s buzzing, and every exercise class you go to is packed. People (women) desperate to squeeze into their shiny minis, or, if they’ve so opted, their classic LBDs (little black dresses), hoping a desperate blast of spinning, or 90 minutes of Bikram yoga will boil off the remaining love handles (gag just thought of: I can’t wait till I fit into my special LBD again — I love dressing as a nun at Christmas).
On the other hand you could always go the giant Christmas-jumper route. It’s party season, and you know because gangs of ordinarily ordinary office-party types appear out and about dressed in matching, mad altogether, knitwear; giant cartoon reindeer heads on them, or patterns that look like an elf-worker tunic or with crazy slogans like ‘ I’m on Santa’s naughty list’. Formerly ironic, now so ironic it’s post-ironic, the Christmas jumper is the knitwear equivalent of the vol-au-vent. It’s so ubiquitous this season, Sharon Ní Bheoláin will be wearing one on the Six-One News next. So big it up in a huge Crimbo jumper, if you’re feeling too big for a little dress — that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. By the way, don’t be jealous if you don’t work in an office this time of year and so don’t have the opportunity to drunkenly photocopy your bottom in the workplace. You can go down to your local copy shop and do it, if you must. Wear a Christmas jumper as an excuse. As security drags you off the machine, you can point out, ‘Santa’s naughty list, see?’
Oh, it’s party season, what fun. Last Saturday I had two to go to, no less. I sent apologies to the hostess of one, and thought I’d have a wee nap before I went to the other. I woke up four hours later, and ended up not going anywhere but back to sleep. On the one hand I was thinking, ‘This is shocking, Anne. You’re missing out on living life.’ On the other, as I snuggled under the duvet, happy to have missed chit-chat I wasn’t in the mood for, and finger nibbles and ‘the one too many’ that are always later regretted, I thought to myself, ‘Ah, party season, and here I am enjoying one of my favourite kind: the solo slumber party.’