Urgh.

My hands are raw, RAW!, from the mistletoe belt I have been making for the office Christmas party next week. I fear the office Christmas party like no other since a date is required and last year’s took the opportunity to tell me I wasn’t The One at said event. Nice. In a classy kind of way. The year before that, well, I can’t even think about it without getting the kind of pain shooting through my skull that would imply I had bleached my teeth. Blech. My poor, confused co-workers. Poor, confused me.