Happy New Year! Back in the ‘70s, our little group of 30-somethings had some crazy parties! We didn’t go completely off the deep end, but we had fun. And when the ball fell at Times Square every year, we all stopped our dancing long enough to scream “Happy New Year” and start kissing each other and spilling champagne. Then everyone had breakfast. Well, they had breakfast while I passed out on the couch.
But that was then and this is now. For the past several years, everyone has stayed home on New Year’s Eve and, if they’re all like me, snored through the Times Square falling of the ball.
This year an ambitious couple in our gang invited us all over. We ate a lot and drank a little, and no one started snoring, much to my surprise. I myself yawned from 10:30 until 11:45, then came alive when someone poured apple juice into my champagne glass. We started counting down and when the Raleigh Acorn hit bottom at midnight we yelled and screamed and blew little party horns and spun noise-makers. To a fly on the wall, the scene could have been mistaken for an Old Folks Home!
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