Champagne Wishes and Caviar Dreams
I wore pink on New Year’s Eve. (It’s the new black. Or– crap, maybe that was that last year…)
Our evening was spent at one of those affairs you start talking about weeks in advance, wondering about the food and entertainment long before the big night arrives.
Munchie, age 7, remembers last year’s gala event – we found a Stooges marathon on cable. But Malfoy, now 4, conked out early on the last night of 2004. This year, however, she was determined to stay up and watch the sparkly ball fall down.
The popcorn was popped to perfection and my husband saw to it that the juice boxes were never empty. Munchie and Malfoy provided running commentary (“Ooh! Mariah Carey is beautiful!”)
Party-hopping is never a good idea. That’s how we found ourselves subjected to the dulcet tones of the Philbins’ Winter Wonderland…
The minutes ticked by like hours and as midnight finally approached, we almost lost Malfoy. I tickled her awake just as the first ripple of anticipation rolled through Times Square.
With my pink pajamas wrinkling beneath squirmy little-girl tushies, we all counted backward and watched that sparkly ball fall down.
Rather than explode in a cacophony of fireworks, Suburbia stuttered and sputtered, then quickly simmered down, so Sully, the 150 lb. lap-dog kept his barking-at-nothing to a minimum. And my husband — resplendent in black sleepy-shorts and a T-shirt — kept his yelling-at-the-frigging-dog to a minimum as well.
So, this one wasn’t a champagne and caviar New Year’s Eve. No sparkling gown, no Spago, no limo. I’ve had nights like that before and I expect I will again.
But my wishes and dreams from those days led me to this place. And Wolfgang Puck can’t compete with sleepy little girls. And a limo is no match for a big, warm human pillow…
…which is where I’m headed right… about… now.
(Happy New Year!)