10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…Happy New Year!
I’m one of those saps at the party who actually yells “Happy New Year!” as the clock strikes midnight, while everyone else’s lips are otherwise occupied in a New Year’s kiss with the one they love. Or I’m not at a party at all, opting to clear the collision course for the braver drivers on New Year’s Eve by staying home and watching old movies, baking cookie, cleaning house, or crocheting. Or blogging. Ok, when I say it out loud like that it sounds a little sad. But really, I’m not sure what the fuss is all about.
According to the folks at Snopes, the superstition surrounding the kiss at midnight is to ensure a year of continued love, and to ward off a year of coldness. Since I’ve never kissed anyone at midnight, does this mean every year I’m doomed to be cold and loveless? And if so, how am I ever supposed to find someone, if only to have someone to kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve? Yes, I’m sober. Far too sober for such a circular and fundamentally illogical myth.
Still, the part of my brain that controls my swoon-reflex can’t help but be swept up in the romantic notion of ringing in the new year locked in a juicy smooch with someone special. My Mr. Big, shared my affection for the classic film love stories, and we had several screen-worthy kisses: my head gracefully tilted as his hand brushed my hair away from my cheek, his thumb forming the perfect crook to guide our faces together, our lips pausing mere millimeters apart while our breaths met before finally collapsing against one another. Mr. Grant and Ms. Hepburn had nothing on us.
Yet while our lips undoubtedly struck together as the clock struck midnight, out of mere coincidence, they never tolled in a new year together. The two years we were an exclusive item, Big spent New Year’s with his family–all of 2 miles from me and mine. Later, when things got complicated and we were…well, not an exclusive item, we spent New Year’s Even apart quite deliberately on either his part or mine depending on the year. In years intermittent and since I’ve occasionally found myself in a relationship with (or at least dating) some eligible kisser, but have always been in a different city than them (if not a different time zone) for New Year’s. So here I am, 25 (again) and never been kissed…at least not at New Year’s.
For now I’ll sit here and finish my cup-o-noodles, Carrie Bradshaw-style, think back on all the swoon-worthy moments of 2009, and go to bed to dream of all the swooning to come in 2010!