I suppose it had to happen sooner or later; I finally witnessed for myself why company Christmas parties are better known as, as a solicitor put it, "the annual sexual harrassment fest". Of course I've heard all about what goes on at such shindings; I wasn't born yesterday, you know. But, prior to my company's party last week, I'd never been on the receiving end of any propositions in my career ever, and by the end of the party, I'd had three. Whoa.

Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually like it when men come on to me, or at least not if they're that forward about it. I don't mind the compliments, or being asked for my number, or being bought a drink, but I do mind it when they try and go further, which, in some cases, involved asking me whether I intended going home with another colleague with whom I'd been speaking and dancing earlier. When I responded with a shocked emphatic negative, the questioner then proceeded to make his move on me. What the heck? I mean, it's nobody's business what my intentions are. Also, both of them are married. And it's always the married men who behave the worst at such functions, I find.

But the third one who prepositioned me? I don't even want to blog about it because it made me feel so uncomfortable, even through all of the alcohol I had imbibed. Ugh.

The men aside, the party was incredible. It was very lavish and extremely posh. And I'd snagged myself the unofficial title of 'best dancer' and 'best dressed' that night. The cutest guy in my company even came by to tell me that I had incredible dress sense and that, every time he sees me, my dresses just get better and better. The dress I wore is probably the best dress I have, so it's all downhill from here, buddy. Also, I wondered for a brief second or two whether that comment meant that he wasn't straight, but, hey, if he isn't, then that compliment means even more. Heh.

So, yes, I had a great time that night... if only the men had behaved more gentlemanly!