While listening to Roy and Darryl talk fantasy football, Pam's regrets about swapping the teapot seem to hit her hard. Hey, it's a start.

Things are picking up, as people do shots off the reception desk and Michael gives Ryan props for being "King of the party committee," prompting Angela to bestow one of her brain-melting glares upon them both. Jim visits Pam at the reception desk, and learns that she traded with Dwight to get the teapot back. Pleased, Jim happily tells her to check out what's inside, and while she's laughing over the yearbook picture ("Yeah, I think I made the right choice," she THs happily -- again, it's a start), Jim snakes the card back. Whew, that was close. And yet it pleases me that not only does Roy have to shell out for an iPod now, it's still not going to be able to touch Jim's gift.

Dwight is thanking Michael for the iPod when who should show up but an already incredibly drunk Packer, sporting a sprig of mistletoe sticking out over his belt. Where's my hedge trimmer? The party continues to get more raucous, as Michael magnanimously presents Darryl with the Santa hat, then wrecks the moment by attempting a soul hug. Dinkin' flicka, Michael. Kevin pastes up photocopies of his butt, Michael appears with a lampshade on his head, and Jim Silly-Strings the scalp of a passed-out Packer. Kelly catches up to Dwight in the break room and gives him a peck on the lips, causing him to freak out, and Angela to glare some more. She should have paced those glares a little better early on. Oh, wait, she's gone outside to smash ornaments by the dumpster. Never mind. Those are the nice ones, too.

The party breaks up, and people are heading to Poor Richard's for the after party. Even Michael gets invited along, because Bob Vance of Vance Refrigeration doesn't know any better. As Michael blathers about the meaning of Christmas while he packs up his office and the rest of the staff has a snowball fight outside, a soused Meredith presents herself in Michael's office and sheds her sweater and shirt. When Michael turns around and beholds the spectacle awaiting him, he sucks in a huge breath that he clearly expects to be his last. But when gazing upon his employee's pendulous mommy-bags fails to turn him to stone, he flashes his digital camera at them and heads out like nothing happened. Every once in a while he does exactly the right thing. Because you can't spell "stopped clock" without "Scott," sort of.