Yawning in the New Yearby Bridget Stuart
I spent New Year's Eve this year with my sick little 6-year-old, feeling a sore throat coming on myself, having canceled my extra-fun plans to host some extra-fine single friends at my place. And while I yawned and juggled Robitussin bottles, I decided the whole New Year's thing is a scam anyway. For parents, that is.
I mean, how do you get babysitters on New Year's Eve? Does anyone? How far in advance do you book…the prior year, perhaps? Should I already have done this for 2007?
Teenagers, the most popular babysitting choice, are booked solid on New Year's. They usually have a minimum of two, and possibly four or more parties to attend in the course of the evening. And if you manage to rope a teenager and drag her back to the ranch to sit with the little 'uns while you mosey out to parties yourself, how do you know that YOUR house is not going to be one of the party locations on the high school circuit that evening? Huh? Check the trash cans when you get home. And the bathtubs.
Kind, gentle elderly babysitters won't do it, either. They're flat-out against driving on New Year's Eve. And who can blame them, with all those teen booze bashes going on (including the one at YOUR house).
So, high schoolers and sweet grandmas are out. And everyone else is off limits for desperate sitting requests, because no one wants to admit they're so far into loserdom that they're actually available on such a night.
Yet another thing: Any adult who *isn't* happily settled in a committed relationship seems to find the champagne-swilling, number-shouting gaiety of the evening to be somewhat less than a frisky funfest. Instead, they tend to wander hollow-eyed through the throng, imagining that everyone else is as jubilant as they look. "If only I had someone to love me," they whisper. "Another year gone. I thought I would be married by now…with kids…"
…so they could stay at home on New Year's Eve and miss the countdown altogether.
Yaaaawn. Rant over.
Welcome, welcome 2007.