Cocktail Nightmare

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“So don’t panic on me, but…” Andy said hesitantly, looking at me sideways.

“Ye-es?” I responded, one eyebrow up.

“I just got the invitation to the company Christmas party. And it’s cocktail attire.”

“What?” I squeaked. “Cocktail!?!”

To fully get the shock value of this announcement, you must understand that I currently don’t own a dress. Or a skirt. The best I have is two year old business pants. And shoes - don’t talk to me about shoes. Because I don’t have any. Well, unless you count tennis shoes. I work for myself, alone, at home. And I am a very understanding boss when it comes to dress code. Oh, and did I mention the Christmas party is on Friday? Yes, that would be seven days from now. That Friday.

Sooooo… guess who will be out fighting the Christmas crowds at the mall this weekend? Oh yeah, that’ll be me. I’m hoping to snag a nice Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, which will, of course, instantly make me sexy and slinky. Shoes, you ask? Well, let’s just say you’ll recognize me at the party, because I’ll be the one going barefoot.