Happy Muslim Mama: The Great Escape

I usually find myself having to wheedle my way out of Christmas parties at work with whatever excuse I can think of. This week I had been covering a colleague who usually takes minutes at management meetings and at the end of the meeting found myself listening to a conversation about the Christmas do. Everyone agreed to put £10 towards the booze, someone mentioned that this wasn’t a Christmas party, it was a “team get-together” so everyone was expected to be there. I’m surprised no-one heard me groan. Another manager then mentioned food much to everyone’s amusement, “food? Who eats at these things, we’ll have peanuts or something.” I just stared at my paper-pad and inwardly seethed.

So on the day of the party, after feeling a bit down for two days, I felt quite upbeat, so turned up in my black and red (sequinned scarf, fave art deco brooch from Kooky Little Sister, Swarovski bracelet from Long Suffering Sister, long necklace of jet beads fro market for £2).

Everyone kept asking me if I was dolled up for the party. I must have had the same conversation four or five times:Colleague: You like nice, coming to the party later?Me: Nope!Colleague: Why?Me: Don’t celebrate ChristmasColleague: Well nor do we, it’s a team ….”thing”Me: I don’t drinkColleague: Well nor do we, there should be food.Me: Yeah I’m going to stay late to eat peanuts!Colleague: You should come…Me: (Piece de resistance) Have no childcare arrangements.Colleague: Oh…

I enjoyed strolling out at 4pm while everyone else was being rounded up for the party and herded into the canteen.