A local bartender invited me to her annual Ugly Christmas Sweater Party, attending which required only one thing.
"I don't own a sweater, let alone a Christmas one, let alone an ugly one," I said.
"Better get shopping," she replied.
I knew I wasn't going to hang out with vapid 20-somethings all day, but I waited until she texted the official invitation to say that I wouldn't be able to make it. An hour later, I received a photo of the bartender and my favorite waitress, making sad faces.
When the photo came in, I was out to lunch with my old boss. I was at the buffet, and my phone was in front of her on our table.
"So John," she said as she handed me my phone. "Who are these young women?"
"Must be a wrong number."
"Oh come on. They look miserable. Clearly they know you."