(By the way: Seriously, it's more common to say "tits and bits" than "tidbits" here. Is that an Indlish thing, or are Americans isolated in their sophomoric mockery of any phrase including a synonym for "breast"?)
I was feeling quite trepidatious about the office retreat this weekend. I already spend about 50 hours a week with these people, and now you're asking me to take 12 hours on a Saturday to sit around at a country club, in a city of malls, with access to no alcohol save for a meager supply of Kingfisher beers, being compelled by a Hateful Administrator to participate in potato sack races for no remuneration other than a half-melted bar of Cadbury's? You have to be kidding.
But because I am now an Office Elder, and because it's been said that I'm "willfully isolated," I decided that the best revenge is living well. I belted my morning coffee with a cupful of Kahlua, grabbed a pair of fabulous sunglasses, and slapped a smile on my face.
Shockingly? Not that horrible. By that I mean horrible, but hilarious, kitschy, and mortifyingly ironic in retrospect. And I'll never forget when the 9-year-old son of one of the most proper aunties in the office began singing "Smack That" (bend over and let me smack that, all on the floor, smack that, give me some more, smack that, 'til you get sore...oOoOOOOoooo), complete with lewd hand gestures and pelvis grinding.
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