Esther McCarthy: A few dos and don’ts for the office Christmas party

Let us kick things off with a bit of office Christmas party etiquette. I have been to a few in my day, and if I can prevent just one of you darling readers out there from making a complete tit of yourselves, it will all be worth it.

Do

I’ve heard some naysayers giving out about sparkly clothes and saying it’s too much. NO. SHUT YER DIRTY GRINCHEY MOUTHS.

I hereby decree, get your glitter on for your office party. Shine on, you crazy diamonds. I have the same black sequined top, clip on mini elf hat, and goldy blazer I’ve been pulling out of the attic year after year.

I’ve also just acquired a pair of silver tights, and as Santa Claus himself as my witness, I will wear them until they merge with my skin, like a festive Venom.

I don’t want some fashionista to declare sequins are so last year. That’s the whole point. We wore them last year, we can wear them this year, and I plan to wear them for every Christmas I’m still above ground, and possibly in my casket.

So come with me, don the naff Christmas jumper with the flashing Rudolf nose, adorn your dog/cat/vehicle with the reindeer antlers, rock those Late Late Toy Show pjs, and work that Santa beard, babe. Just make sure you reuse them all next year.

Don’t

Use the party to settle old scores. 

’Tis the season to be jolly, remember, not the season to air dirty laundry in public. Even if it’s a sparkly thong.

I remember a story about one lady who was close to retirement, who’d had one too many sherries elbowing Kevin from accounts and pointing at her husband across the room, a distinguished looking gentleman, by all accounts, and slurring, “see him, he’s like Santy, he only comes once a year too”.

Cue him feeling all eyes on him and waving over nervously at his beloved and Kevin blushing seven shades of holly berry.

Do

Arrive fashionably late. There is nothing worse than being the first there, in the echoing pub, pulling at your skirt and enduring the sympathetic looks from the barman. 

You are guaranteed to drink too much, too fast, and by the time your colleagues arrive, you’ll be slow dancing to ‘Last Christmas’ with the same barman, only now he’s the one pulling at your skirt and it’s still only 6.30pm.

Don’t

Get into a dance off with Steve from marketing. That dude has some moves.

I once decided to step up a friendly dance off by doing a cartwheel across the floor. 

It was unfortunate I happened to be wearing a dress and it was laundry day so the undergarments weren’t optimal, and the staff aren’t paid enough to be dealing with that carry on.

Another time, I was convinced I could do the crow, the yoga pose, where you balance your body weight delicately on your hands with your knees tucked holding your thighs.

Unfortunately, my wrists went like cooked spaghetti and I ended up nose first on a sticky floor, arse-over-elbow. Underwear wasn’t optimal that time either. 

Note, wear good knickers to the party, folks.

Do

Be prepared for the karaoke. Even if you can’t carry a tune in a bucket, this could be the difference between promotion and parody. 

You gotta go big or go home when it comes to singing ’80s power ballads at 3am in the back of a dodgy casino with senior management. 

Go full Tina Turner, belt out ‘Proud Mary’, and work those thighs like your P45 depends on it.

Don’t

Be the pain in the hole that makes sure everyone at the party knows you’re not drinking because you’re on antibiotics/have a 6am tennis match you can’t miss/might be pregnant/the kids have a blitz/it doesn’t agree with the Ozempic. Nobody cares. 

Sip away on the mocktail for yourself and don’t mind doing the Judge Judy face at the marketing gals pounding tequila rose shots and making bad choices. 

Just keep the smugness and the photographic evidence of Mary from analytics doing the wet chair move from Flashdance on the CFO to yourself. You never know when it might come in handy.

Do

Enjoy yourself.

Don’t

Enjoy yourself too much.