This morning, clips from last night's corporate holiday party were featured on national television. I wasn't in any of the clips [whew!].
Nor was the dance-off between editorial and digital advertising that was squashed when my esteemed colleague on the advertising side performed an uncanny rendition of Britney's "I'm a Slave For You" complete with [huff], [huff], [huff] convulsions on the dance floor that quickly had her surrounded by all the guys from the mail room and left editorial repeatedly bowing in submission.
Nor were our slightly drunken double-dares outside of the kitchen.
Nor was the relentless laughter as our general manager shook his tail-feather to rapper Chamillionaire's "Ridin' Dirty."
Last night was a fun night.