Wrights And Wrongs

Chapter 6

It's finally Friday. Sweet sweet Friday. I have never loved a day of the week more. Besides Saturday, obviously. Every other day of the week is a no.

Sunday? That's right before monday.

Monday? Far from the weekend.

Tuesday? Practically the same as monday.

Wednesday? The most bland day of the week.

Thursday? The tortuous day that symbolizes the end of the week but isn't the end of the week.

Friday? The best day to go into the office because of the excitement of Friday night and saturday.

Saturday? Pure perfection.

The week has gone by very slowly, and James' passive aggressive stares the past few days he has been at the office have made it go by even slower. We haven't said much to each other. In fact, I have barely heard him talk these past few days.

He just patrols the office like a military general robot and locks himself in Mr Wright's- his office. Actually, it's not technically his office yet. It will be after Mr Wright's retirement party tonight, but that's not for another few hours.

I was thinking about ditching, but the invite said there was free food and drinks, and there's no way I would be stupid enough to pass that up. Or an offer of anything free for that matter. I intend on clinging to the table with the food and drinks.

Let's hope they have some actual drinks, and none of that pussy shit. I'm talking vodka, tequila; the works. I can't get drunk off of Pepsi. I can even do with a cocktail, or two, or fifty.

A good retirement party should have lots of alcohol. And weed. But I don't see Mr Wright as much of the weed type. Shame. For some reason I feel like he would actually be fun high. I don't see James as the weed type either. But he's definitely the coke type. I know London boy got up to some snorting during tea time.

I decided it would be too much of a hassle to go home and change for an old fart's retirement party, so I'm currently wearing what I wore during the day: a dress that goes to my knees and paired with the nude pumps that have become my new favorite pair of shoes, makes my legs look amazing if I do say so myself.

I did decide to touch up my makeup earlier though, just in case anyone asks why I look like a corpse bride. And not in the pretty blue Tim Burton kind of way, but in the 'Jesus Christ is that a dead body?' kind of way.

I dabbed my usual red lipstick on my lips and cheeks like I do most mornings to refresh my face. Good thing I always keep one in my bag. Lipstick is the one thing I will shamelessly splurge on.

I also touched up my deodorant, because I will not be smelling like shit at any given hour. I wear men's deodorant because it makes me feel like I have male privilege in this patriarchal society. Especially in the finance world.

Also it's oddly comforting. I wear Old Spice Fiji. That's my shit.

Now, I sit at my desk writing up a document on financial planning for a high profile client. No doubt James reeled him in. It's now that I realize that I probably should have done my touch ups right before the party, not 2 hours before, but whatever, I'll just do the routine again right before the party.

It is going to be at Mr. Wright's mansion, and that's the only remotely exciting thing about it. I'll get to see how the rich live up close. I love rich people parties because I can pretend I am rich myself.

In my mind, I am the one throwing the party and it's my multi-million dollar house that people are trashing. But I doubt it'll be that kind of a party because it's Mr. Wright and it's a retirement party.