Guess what I am doing this New Year’s Eve? Nothing. We’re talking PJs, pizza, and bubbly Mommy juice to ring in 2011. That’s if my husband, who threw his back out before our major blizzard (forcing me to break my 20-year no shoveling streak), doesn’t throw me out first. Husband + bad back + wife who temporarily becomes a single Mommy during recovery= grumpy marriage.
I asked a few friends what their plans are, and they’re equally pathetic, even without the bad back equation. When did we become so lame?
I have appropriately welcomed in past New Year’s Eves in Times Square, Boston, Las Vegas, Orlando, and the Bahamas, to name a few. I splurged on trendy outfits, professional blow-outs, inflated cover charges, five-course dinners, and limousines without batting a fake eyelash. I pulled all-nighters voluntarily. That was me…then.
Now, I will cozy up on my couch in suburbia and talk about how lucky we are to stay off the roads with the crazy drunk drivers while watching the uber-annoying Ryan Seacrest earn yet another paycheck. And if I wind up pulling an all-nighter it will only be because my son wants to party it up in his crib.
Cheers to 2011!