Laaarny

After stupidly taking a chunk out of my thumb with a potato-peeler yesterday, I was required to join Mills and meet his boss for a department dinner. Obviously, I wanted to be at my hottest for this introduction - maybe a pretty unemployed trophy girlfriend will qualify for a raise in salary... (now is that pretty unemployed, trophy girlfriend or unemployed petty trophy girlfriend?)

Moving on. Getting ready was fun. Smart and sophisticated, not slutty and smutty. Hmmm, I don't have a wardrobe for that. My perfectly peeled digit was wrapped in a classy plastic plaster and my hair wasn't helping. After three weeks of sublime sleekness, it chose yesterday to pick a new direction... Electrified Socket UP. Awesome. Half a tub of silicone-sleekness later, I was on my way to dine with the boss.

Dinner was at his home and I was certainly not expecting to be greeted by a butler (sorry... sommelier) at the door. The really awesome thing was that Mills had been tasked with some random admin to finish, so I got to stand around awkwardly... until my second glass of champagne. Then the awkwardness abated and I was conversationalist-extraordinaire. Well, at least I thought so anyway.

Aside from the sommelier insisting on serving everything to me first (what the fek am I supposed to do with this pretentiously-presented mouthful? Is it fish? Is it soup? What fork do I use!?), and aside from me being placed next to the antithesis of conversation ("So where are you from originally?" England. "Oh really, whereabouts in England?" South East. "Where in the South East?" Just east of London. "Oh. Good luck with that online personality contest, I hope you win one."), and aside from two of Mills's colleagues trying to convince me that now is the perfect time for me to start breeding... the dinner went very smoothly. I didn't knock anything over, I didn't drop or break anything, I didn't spill anything down my top AND they were serving red wine. It should've been a disaster, but it wasn't.

That's not really much of a post, is it? I must be growing up. A few years ago, I would've said something inappropriate, dug myself a deeper hole by trying to talk my way around it and probably swearing loudly in the process, followed up with flinging food off my plate and into someone else's lap and conluded with half a glass of wine down the front of my white blouse.

I'm so boring these days.