Yesterday evening was The Hubby's annual holiday office party.
"Office party" might be one of the most dreaded phrases in the English language. Utter it and watch people cringe, roll their eyes, and curl their lips.
Heaven knows, The Hubby and I have been to our share of awkward, hideous, overblown boozefests that brought out the worst in our coworkers.
But his company is blessed with a very talented office manager who, year after year, creates the most memorable, chic, delightful parties. And last night's was no exception.
The downtown Los Angeles skyline, a-twinkle with holiday lights. A private penthouse rooftop garden. An uncommonly balmy winter evening.
Fabulous food. Plentiful drinks. Candlelit dining.
Gentlemen in tuxedos and ladies in killer heels and cocktail dresses.
Beautiful, frosty floral decorations. To-the-floor table linens and up-to-there candleabras.
It was magical.
So, thank you, K., for another masterfully planned evening. We were delighted to be there.
We saw our city from a new vantage point and realized all over again what a lovely place it can be.