Last night was the office Christmas party downtown. G and I normally go. In fact, it’s a big deal for G to go. Unfortunately this year everybody but me’s been hit with the creeping ickies. Since my daughter-in-law works for the same company, she and my son did go to the party and reported back on it. The opening act was Ke$ha, the headliner Snoop Dogg. Umm, ew. Let’s just say I’m mighty thankful we didn’t go. We’d have walked out from the first act, no question about it.
I get that our company skews young, so I think it’s fine that the acts this year were geared accordingly. It’s got to be hard to find a balance. ZZ Topp was awesome, but G and I also walked out the year Kid Rock headlined. Just not our cuppa, ya know?
G cracked me up this morning. He and his sister went off on a tangent about the book I wrote, joking that my dead laptop should be preserved for posterity as the one I used to write the book; that our street would be renamed and the house turned into a museum. It’s silly but it’s also kind of endearing. My kids’ dad spent his every waking moment demeaning me and everything I did. It’s sweet to have a cheering section instead, however unlikely their daydreams.