So it's the year 2006. I ushered it in with no fanfare, no alcohol, nothing of any celebration. I had pampered myself earlier in the afternoon with a cotton blossom scented bubble bath that lasted an hour. After my fingers and toes were sufficiently pruned, I lathered on the lavender lotion and laid in bed with Barry for about another hour. I had to rest up for the big evening I had planned -- sitting on the couch watching tv.
The weather was lousy, my family was doing other things, Pete was in Toronto and I really didn't want to be around people.
I watched "The Interpreter" with Nicole Kidman, ate a chicken wrap, played with Barry. As midnight approached, I switched on Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve and was saddened at Dick's hoarse and slow speech. He's not the eternal teenager anymore.
At about 20 seconds before the ball drop, I ran upstairs to get my sleeping dog, curled up under the bed covers. He opened up his sleepy eyes and let himself be taken from his warm nest. Like a baby, I held him with his head leaning on my shoulder and together we watched the crystal ball in Times Square drop to ring in the new year. On tv crowds of people cheered and hugged and kissed their neighbors. I hugged Barry. He yawned, licked my nose, and trotted back upstairs to his spot under the covers before it got cold.
I had no resolutions for the new year. I didn't bother taking the time to reflect on the old. I just turned off the tv, blew out the candles, and followed my loyal man to bed - the one who gives me kisses all the time, keeps me warm and makes me feel like the most important person in the world.