Playbill
January, 2003
It may be relief at still having a job. Or maybe it's the urge to drink freely on the boss' dime. In any case, holiday office parties are workplace snow globes of romantic possibility. For us at Playboy, the buffet alone requires mental wet wipes. Meat turns us carnivorous ("Look at that tenderloin"), spices become verbs ("It's time to nut Meg from accounting") and dessert is always sticky ("It's not what you think--it's just figgy pudding"). And we're not alone. Fo...
