>The Glamorous Life
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It was New Year’s Eve, and we were enjoying a night out on the town. I perched daintily atop my chair and perused an oversized menu, my eyes dancing with excitement.
“I’ll have….” I paused, running my finger along a list of buzz-inducing beverages before selecting one and giving the black-clad server my order.
“The Black Opal Chardonnay,” the server repeated sagely. “That is an excellent choice, if I do say so myself, Mrs. Ferrier.”
“Thank you,” I said, pleased. I could see already that New Year’s Eve 2007 was going to be a night to remember. “And I’ll have the clam strips, too. And an order of fried green tomatoes.”
“Got it, hon,” she replied. Meanwhile, Hubs ordered the top sirloin. “No catfish for y’all?” our waitress asked. I paused, biting my lip, and looked down at the indoor pond beside us, where catfish swam enticingly through the water. “No thanks,” I said reluctantly. “But Punky here will have the chicken fingers. And some chocolate milk, please.”
“Sure thing, Punkin,” the waitress said. Hubs and I smiled as we looked at each other over the table. New Year’s Eve at a catfish house. With the kids. Dayum.
“At least we’re out,” I shrugged.
“And we have a thirty dollar gift certificate,” Hubs added, pleased. That explained our restaurant choice… well, that and the fact that the fancier restaurants we’d called for reservations were booked solid.
We got home around nine and had both kids in bed by 10:30. I had abandoned any attempt to explain 2008 to a three-year-old who could barely count to 40; it seemed like more trouble than it was worth.
That meant that it was time for ye olde television.
Hubs flipped the channels, stopping at an episode of “Cheaters.” We were just in time to see a man watch the video evidence of his fiancee’s affair with his cousin. Hubs started to turn the channel.
“Stop!” I yelped. “We have to see the confrontation!” We waited.
“Oh yeah, this is so fake,” I said when the cheaters emerged from a bar together. “He would never cheat with her.” I took a swig of champagne.
“I don’t know,” Hubs mused. “It is a small town. The pickings may be slim.” We watched as the jilted lover confronted his cousin. They argued back and forth for a bit, but although we waited expectantly, no punches were thrown and no one pulled a gun.
“Well, that was disappointing,” I said, taking another sip of champagne as Hubs flipped channels. We watched the ball drop in New York, where they were an hour ahead of us.
“So lame,” I muttered as two Fox anchors in Times Square hugged strangers and took pictures of themselves and did self-conscious happy dances while confetti fluttered around them. “Turn it back to that guy who’s going to jump over a football field on his motorcycle.”
We watched him make the jump and had a short discussion over whether he was crazy. Before we knew it, it was 11:45.
“Are you ready?” Hubs grinned at me.
“Hell, yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”
And that’s where I’ll leave you because frankly, the rest is none of your business. Let’s just say that while I’ve spent past New Year’s Eves on ritzy country club dance floors and downtown streets and in countless trendy bars and clubs, I never thought I’d spend one over clam strips and “Cheaters” re-runs.
And I never thought I’d care so little.
I’ve been given the incredible gift of my family, a gift that has given me more joy than I ever thought possible. And suddenly, those years I spent trying to determine where the hippest New Year’s Eve celebrations would be seem irrelevant. Dumb, even. I was looking for happiness then, but in all the wrong places.
Who would have ever thought back then that all the love and happiness I could ever have hoped for on a New Year’s Eve would eventually be seated around me at a catfish house in Nashville, Tennessee?
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
