Certain people, I’m told, are particularly susceptible to taking their parents seriously, just as they might be to sunburn, or T.B. I believe it, especially around New Year’s Eve, when a trio of my Mom’s personal aphorisms begins to clang around my head.
“Don’t drive after dark: the drunks are out.” Kinda true, and especially relevant. Not only do New Year’s Eve activities happen in the dark, but most revolve around drinking. Plus, this being Los Angeles, I drive wherever I’m going. Looks like I’m not going anywhere.
“Don’t breathe other people’s exhalations.” Admittedly one of her more bizarre pieces of advice, but no less applicable. Parties, by their very nature, are full of people, and people (the unhygienic monsters) consistently breathe. Best I stay at home. (And ask my boyfriend to direct his exhalations out an open window.)
“Nothing good ever happens after midnight.” Forget seeing the ball drop. I’ll be desperately trying to will myself to sleep at that point, avoiding whatever general “not good” waits around to pounce on people in the wee hours.
December 31st is the culmination of so many things, including apparently, my inherited sense of anxiety. What other day of the year can I get into a car accident, expose myself to germs, and according to the “nothing good ever happens after midnight” rule, be rest assured that the new year will be equally full of peril? I have no idea what lack of plans I’ll get up to this Wednesday, but rest assured I’ll be worried about them.
Happy New Year!
After 12 years away from her home turf of Southern California, Agatha French returned to Los Angeles from Boston this fall. She is very much looking forward to the year round fruit.