Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column from the Express of the Washington Post.
I survived Thanksgiving, Black Friday, Cyber Monday all in fine fettle. Now, however, I’m faced with the ultimate holiday season test, my husband’s office Christmas party. Not only will my husband’s boss be there, but the boss’s boss, and the boss’s boss’s boss, all the way up to the CEO. I’ve got my little black dress, and now I need some pretty shoes, something under $200 if you can manage, please.
Manolo says, ayyyy! The moment of great danger approaches, when the innocent young peoples who have ventured forth, Hansel and Gretel style, into the deep thicket of The Corporate Woods, encounter the gingerbread house at the center.
Yes, at the first glance, the holiday office party would appear to be festive sort of thing, with the decorations, the twinkling lights, and the row of smiling bosses with their skinny-toned, Harvard MBA, trophy wives.
But do not be deceived, young person, for there are traps and monsters and witches waiting for you, eager to pull you from the career ladder and devour your chances at getting your own reserved parking space in the office garage.
Keep in mind these sensible rules of proper behavior: Do not talk about the election just past; do not have that third glass of champagne; and do not, under any circumstances, dance with the boss, the boss’s boss, or the boss’s boss’s boss to the “slow jam”.
Look! Here is the Vivian from the Badgley Mischka, the strappy sandal in the metallic silvery color that seems sufficiently festive for the happily ever after.