The mice are getting Cinderelly Mirelly ready and the pumpkin coach is set to arrive in a few minutes.  I, the prince, await my princess.  She already knows to leave the glass slippers at home.  They are too treacherous on the snow and ice around here.

The annual employee recognition dinner for my company is tonight.  It’s a large formal affair at a fancy banquet hall with open bar, orchestra, and a bit of fanfare.  All the directors, sales managers, managers, and a lot of friends of the company from around the world will be there.  People from Belgium, France, Saudi Arabia, Canada, China, Singapore, Brazil, Mexico.. to name a few.. will be represented.  Our company is a small enterprise with a broad outreach.  And it’s fun just to see the women dressed to the nines, the men uncomfortable in their suits, and the controlled mayhem.  After an hour of cocktails, the awards are presented (yawn — it takes a while), then we eat our filet mignon or lobster or chicken or veggie whatchamacallit.  Our entertainment is usually someone like Jim Gaffigan, Sinbad, Bill Engvall, Louie Anderson, Phyllis Diller.  This event is a big deal.

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I have my suit coat and tie on.  I hate ties.  Mir-indirella laments that men can wear the same outfit, a suit, to an affair like tonight’s because we can.  Women can’t.  Most women use tonight’s dinner as an excuse to go clothes shopping.  My dear wife does not enjoy spending money on clothes she will wear once or twice (can I get an AMEN?), so she doesn’t usually do that.  Mid week she decided to wear the same dress she wore a few years ago.  I’m not complaining.  She looks absolutely wonderful in that dress.

 

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