Dear Holly,
I recently went out on a night out with
some of my work colleagues and indulged in one too many Bacardi
Breezers. One minute, I’m discussing the finer details of a mail
merge with one of the other secretaries, the next, I find myself
stripped to the waist on the banks of a river with £300 in cash and
no eyebrows. Worse still, Alan from HR keeps giving me really knowing
looks everytime I walk past his office, which might also explain how
I came into possession of a case of genital herpes. The thing is, I’d
hate to cut back on the booze too much because otherwise people might
start to realise I have nothing interesting to say. Any ideas?
Marina
Leamington Spa
Dear Marina,
I can totally sympathise with your
position. I suffered from an ‘episode’ recently at Sophie Gregory’s
party which I think had something to do with consuming eight fun size
mars bars, half a litre of Fanta and at least four substantial
handfuls of strawberry popping candy in under half an hour. I’d lost
interest in the rubbish clown man and raided the buffet until pass
the parcel kicked off. By that point, I was too far gone to realise I
was in real danger of making a huge spectacle of myself. Having lost
all inhibition, I got far too boisterous during musical chairs and
told Sophie’s mum she was a fat vagina for switching the music off
too soon, then threw a massive tantrum and pinned the tail on Debbie
Walker’s face rather than the donkey. Thankfully, soon after my mummy
came to pick me up, Oliver French fed the Gregory’s dog a whole
multipack of Wotsits and tried to make it have sex with Amanda
Sullivan’s back, so people soon forgot about my own embarrassing
performance. What you have to decide in these situations is whether
it is worth missing out on your party bag and balloon giraffe for the
sake of being the life and soul of the party, or whether it’s best to
keep a low profile and lay off the fruit pastilles while you’re at
it.
Hope that helps!
Holly
