At my chiropractor’s office this morning the young assistant excitedly asked, “So what are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”
“Oh nothing,” I said. “My husband and I will probably stay in, watch a movie, maybe drink a toast at midnight, if we even make it up that long.”
“How awful!” she said. “That sounds so sad.”
“Actually,” I told her, “A quiet evening sounds like tons of fun to me.”
She gave me a pat on my hand as if to say, “you poor old lady.”
Not too many years ago I’d have had the same reaction. After all, isn’t New Year’s Eve tailor-made for partying? When did that change?
Was it during the years when our children were young and we knew that the sleep we missed on New Year’s Eve would not easily be recouped?
Did it change those years when Studly was working shift work, and we spent the big night in separate locations?
Or did it happen when we realized how bad we felt after a big night of partying, and how long that feeling lingered?
Chances are it was an accumulation of causes. At any rate, one would have to drag me out of my home screaming and kicking on New Year’s Eve.
Unless there’s dancing. I’m always up for dancing!
Praying for Eyebrowz 
amen! I think i’d rather keep the kids and have a kid party!
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SNZ and I have been together now for 27 of these amateur hours and we always stay home like the party pros that we are…just us, the critters, and whatever current earworm Susan feels the need to boogie to.
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The way Studly is snoring, I doubt that he sees midnight. Unless, that is, I give him a mischievous nudge at the sound of the chimes.
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