Dec. 22 - I got to attend my first arbejde julefrokost on Friday—my first Danish company Christmas party.

For the past month or so, I'd been trying to postpone lots of stuff onto this past Saturday. "When should we see Return of the King? When can we wrap up our Christmas shopping? When can we spend an afternoon in Tivoli to see their Christmas decorations?" The last Saturday before Christmas seemed the logical answer but everytime I suggested it Trine cut me down.

"No," she'd say. "You've got your julfrokost that Friday. You won't be able to do anything the next day."

Now, jule (or jul, depending) is Danish for Christmas and frokost means lunch, but through some peculiar Danish alchemy of language julefrokost seems to mean "communal catatonic inebriation."

I scoffed at Trine's warnings. Surely she was exaggerating. Didn't she realize I knew my way around a party? All right, I'd been pretty well obliterated by my bachelor party, but that had been their ambition. This was just a Christmas party. I'd be in control of my own drinking. I'd be careful.

I rely on her account of the following events.

I telephoned her at about midnight on Friday from my cell phone to tell her I was on my way home but had become lost somewhere with "buildings and streets." I had found a perfectly comfortable piece of sidewalk somewhere, I told her (my actual memory is not so much one of finding but of falling onto), and was thinking I'd take a little nap before making the rest of the journey home.

I was urged to get my ass onto a bus.

I got onto a bus and telephoned proudly to inform her of the fact. She asked which bus.

"Who cares?" I asked. "It's a bus!"

"What number?" she asked. "Every bus is numbered."

"I know that," I howled. "I just can't read numbers right now." I added that it was nice and warm on the bus, and that maybe I could take my nap now. I was urged not to in the strongest possible terms.

Fortune was kind enough to have landed me on a bus that actually came within a quarter-mile of our apartment, and after two false starts in interesting but unproductive directions I managed to make the forty-five minute stagger home without further incident.

I woke up in bed, fully dressed, at about 6:30 Saturday morning.

"Well," I said, assessing the damage, "at least I managed to get my glasses off!"

"No," Trine said, "I got them for you after you passed out."

As for the party itself, my pictures reveal what looks to have been an enjoyable celebration. I think I'll take their word for it—it's not the kind of thing I want to investigate too closely.

* * *

December 22 is the birthday of BeeGee twins Maurice and Robin Gibb (1949), Steve Garvey (1948), Diane Sawyer (1945), Barbara Billingsley (1922), Gene Rayburn (1917), Lady Bird Johnson (1912), and Giacomo Puccini (1858).

December 22 is Unduvap Poya Day in Sri Lanka, Army Day in Vietnam, and Unity Day in Zimbabwe.

Happy Monday!

2003, The Moron's Almanac™

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