Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo’s annual office picnic is scheduled for this Wednesday.  (This year, the crew got t-shirts which, I gather, everyone is expected to wear.  I made a comment this afternoon about mandatory happy-fun clothing that didn’t go over so well with the supervisor who was handing the things out.)

As regular friends of the decanter might know, Robbo hates such forced camaraderie events (no, my office mates are not my “family”) and, in his nearly twenty-five years of legal practice, has worked very hard to avoid them whenever he can, employing a variety of pretexts legitimate regrets involving illnesses, biznay travel and various domestic crises in order to absence himself from said bean-feasts.

This year I find myself cackling with glee because I can duck the festivities (and avoid the t-shirt) on the perfectly legitimate premise that I need to get a very important document drawn up this week and simply cannot afford the time for such frivolities.  Mr. Robbo regrets, Madam….

Hard cheese, I know, but the mission before all else, amirite?