The Dedes haven’t had much to laugh about this year so they decided recently they need to have a fun Christmas Party. Not like last year when we quietly forgot about Christmas. They still are talking about the year before, when my friend Rae and I took them to North Head for a picnic . I am surprised they talk so fondly about this event, as half of them got drunk and in my opinion they shouldn’t remember anything but their headache the next day. You can imagine how wary I was when they said they don’t mind if I can’t take them anywhere this year, and they would be happy if I gave them the key to the liquor cabinet one night when I was going out. Ah well, as I have neglected the Dedes a little this year I agreed and even replenished the stock before I left.

What a mistake!

Okay, Pig and Professor get always sloshed when there are drinks to be had. No surprises there – but the rest of them?! It obviously got totally out of hand. Well, some of the Dedes were wise enough not to show up at all. After all, it doesn’t take an Einstein to figure out what will happen when there is plenty of booze for free. Bad Conscience, always on the lookout for easy victims, was rubbing his hands in anticipation of the aftermath. He had a field day! Plenty of victims to choose from. Witch, who is a teetotaller, was well-intentioned and went to keep an eye on things and also to rain on Bad Conscience’s parade. By the time she arrived things were already getting out of hand and she retreated early into the art cupboard as nothing could be done to avoid disaster. Philosopher, who is interested in how the Dedes tick had a quiet beer in the corner and watched the bash in amazement. He told me later, the new Dede, Top Dog (I haven’t talked about him yet) made a real nuisance of himself. He made unmistakable advances towards Lou, the young puppy. Lou didn’t know how to fend him off and in the end went and hid. “Ah well, you know how it is, Christmas parties, eh” Philosopher finished his account, shrugging his shoulders. Everyone else also seemed to think it was just a bit of drunken fun. I was gobsmacked as what I was hearing bordered on sexual harrassment. It should not be taken lightly, not even under the cloud of alcohol.

Today Witch came to me and complained bitterly. “I don’t understand” she said, “the others get plastered and make fools of themselves, but they vent anger at Philosopher and me! They blame us for not having fun at their silly party!”

“They are only angry with you because you can tell the story,” I consoled her, but she was still shaking her head in disbelieve.