For the first time as far back as I can remember, I’ll be spending New Year’s Eve on my own in Boston. (Which means I may just wear the outfit I barely have on here – or maybe just the underwear.) A few weeks ago I asked Andy to come with me, but apparently he didn’t want to deal with the parking, so he’s not joining me (but he’ll be representing us at the family gathering). I’m not sure what I’ll be doing when left to my own devices on NYE, but if temperatures are as they traditionally tend to be, I might just stay in with a bottle of champagne, some videos, and a ball drop.
Quite frankly, New Year’s Eve has always seemed more of hyped-up bit of nonsense than anything particularly meaningful, so I’m not going to dwell on being apart from Andy. Hopefully there’s not some sort of bad luck involved in not ringing in the New Year with your husband. At this point, I’m partied out for the year, and just want the new one to begin. Now, to pick up the bubbly…
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