The last of Mrs. Cockburn’s turkey was scraped into the trash can late on Monday night. As she trudged up the stoop of her Dupont Circle manse, she caught a glimpse of her bedraggled husband through the window. Dimly lit by the glow of their hearth, Cockburn was slumped in his armchair, eyes twitching with discomfort. Both sleeves of his Charles Tyrwhitt shirt were rolled up; an IV drip was affixed to each forearm. The crumpled correspondent shifted in his corduroys as the clear fluids trickled in. Mrs. Cockburn shook her head as she entered the house and headed straight upstairs. “The Ritual” had begun early this year.
Cockburn usually wouldn’t kick off his fierce pre-party season hydration regimen until Advent at least. But he was determined to make this year count after a couple of busts. 2020 had involved next to no Christmas parties at all, and last year he managed to succumb to the “Media Variant” of the WuFlu midway through December. No, 2022 would be different: we have to make the last few Christmas party seasons count before the Chinese government starts welding us into our hovels each winter.
With that in mind and Christmas spirit in his heart, Cockburn is once again looking to fill up the last few days of his Christmas party schedule — and is entertaining offers up and down the East Coast. Send your invites to firstname.lastname@example.org and our roving reporter will bring his tidings and joy to your event, snarf your hors d’oeuvres, quaff your champers and flirt with your wife. For Christmas is a time for merriment — and they don’t come merrier than Cockburn.
Those blessed with Cockburn’s presence may find their knees-up earns a mention in one of his storied Christmas party round-ups. Only one night in December is supposed to be silent. Let’s get festive: email@example.com.