I went out with my family, a brother in law and his girlfriend/partner/whatever the latest term is in the second decade of the 2000 years last night, to celebrate the new year.
It’s not something we do often, although I do love to be around people, having fun and just, well, being around people and having fun, really.
Dinner, followed by a decent walk to where fireworks were scheduled to go off at 9.30p.m. – a kid appropriate time.
It was way better than I had anticipated, though – after the fireworks, ABBA cover band Bjorn Again came onto the stage and not much more could have made me happier. I was singing and dancing and ended up being dragged back to our seat my by thirteen-year-old, hoodie pulled so far over his head he couldn’t be identified, clasping my hands tightly behind my back with one of his hands and the other pressed firmly over my mouth.
That I was draped in glow sticks didn’t help – well, from his perspective. Not only was his aging mother singing and dancing, to