How Olde Acquaintance Ruined New Year’s Eve

I won’t catalog the emotional injuries he inflicted on me before we (okay, he) called it quits, mostly because I’m embarrassed that I didn’t dump his ass much earlier in the game. I was so scarred by the events of that New Year’s and the horrendous, bone-crushing break-up that followed months later, that I spent the next three New Year’s either on a plane to India or in India, where they don’t celebrate this secular holiday with as much gusto. It was exactly what I needed. And I’d be doing the same this year, if I could afford it.

At least this year, I have a reason for that eternal spring of hope that says New Year’s Eve is a time of romance, joy, and promise to gush forth once again. I’m dating a new guy, a wonderful guy who in no way reminds me of a wounded bird. I really like him. I might even love him. (Though I’m waiting for him to drop the L-bomb before I do, so mum’s the word.) We haven’t made plans yet. We’ll probably spend the night getting drunk with friends—friends I know. But I don’t really care what we do, because I’ll be with him and I know he won’t be introducing me as his “colleague.”