As a consultant, I usually escape the nonsense of company holiday parties. Friends also rarely invite me to house parties since I am known to drink only the most expensive bottles, urinate on lawn decorations, and leave partially-chewed brownies in the guest bathroom sink. Yet, nary a season passes without an invitation to an Ugly Sweater party. I say, why stop at the sweater? Why not Ugly Slacks? Ugly Sneakers? Ugly Facial Hair? I think women should have a special category: Ugly Crotchless Lace Panties–the Sasquatch of clothing.
I realize the purpose of this theme is so that people can justify keeping closet shelves stocked with decade-old clothing. It’s a sort of self-deprecation strategy: “Look, I have this sweater, which I once wore, thinking it was fashionable. Silly me. Now, I save it only for these special occasions, because I have fine taste.”
When I go to these parties, sometimes I wear a ridiculous sweater, but act like I’m unaware of the party’s theme. Then, when people approach me and comment on my silly top, I react similar to how a barren chubster acts when someone asks when she’s due.
“That’s awesome, dude. Ha ha ha!”
“Your sweater. Classic.”
“My mother bought this for me the year she died of pancreatic cancer.”
“You’re mean. You shouldn’t get your jollies at someone’s expense. That’s called bullying.”
“But, this is an Ugly Sweater party, so I assumed …”
“When you assume, you make a dickheadish meaniehead of yourself.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“This is a fine sweater. It keeps my nipples toasty. If you don’t like it, you should keep your opinion to yourself. I haven’t commented on that unsightly skin tag on your neck, have I? No. Why? Because I am polite and considerate.”
At this point, I usually blow my nose on a hanky I have stuffed up the sleeve.
“Apology accepted. Hold this for a second. Say, is there any eggnog left?”
Wouldn’t it be fun to have an Ugly Socks party? Guests would be required to tuck their slacks into their socks. Puffy ankles rule!
Better yet, I’m going to host an Ugly Guest party. Invitees will be required to venture into used clothing boutiques and Walmart to find people they can bring along to my party. I’m also going to require the guest be leashed and drink from a sippy cup. The night will culminate in a contest where the guests will be required to dance Gangnam Style while I toss insults and deviled eggs at them. (You can throw a nice curveball with a deviled egg. It’s all about the aerodynamics, people.)
How about an Ugly Child party? This has obviously been Ugly Child month as evidenced by all of the social media posts of runny-nosed kids wearing antlers and puffy jackets. Bring your smelly little monkey to my party, but leave it outside to play in the cul-de-sac, please. They tend to dirty my carpets. I promise to provide play-weapons, skates, scooters, boards, and ramps they can use to begin working on head injuries to justify the approaching therapy and drug addictions.