Thursday, May 14, 2020

What are you doing New Year's Eve?

Tuesday's post about UT Orange really took me down memory lane, so I want to tell you the story of the first New Year's Eve Doug and I shared:

When you start dating someone near the end of the year, the holiday season is tricky: you don't want to go overboard and seem needy (that was a BIG theme for both of us early on, but that's a subject for another post), but you don't want to go too far in the other direction and underplay your interest. Finding a balance is tricky. Doug and I started dating in October, so you know Christmas and New Year's Eve were like a freakin' minefield for us.

New Year's Eve is, to many adult women, like the grownup version of Senior Prom. I was diagnosed with mono the morning of my senior prom. I went with my boyfriend anyway, but I can't say it was all we'd hoped for since I could barely eat, couldn't dance more than a single slow dance, and couldn't go spend the night at the beach with all our friends (but I'm not bitter). What was I saying? Oh, yeah: New Year's Eve can be kind of a Big Deal. For me, it's an excuse to get really dressed up, slow dance, and get some good necking in once the requisite kiss at midnight happens. I'm not big on many of the traditional trappings of romance: flowers and candy leave me cold, I'm not big on jewelry (and actively dislike diamonds), but give me a chance to get dressed up and slow dance, and I'm THERE, baby.

You'll remember that Doug turned me into a college football fan (against my will, thank you very much). Well, 2015 was quite the year for college football: the really good Bowl games happened on New Year's Eve. 🤦‍♀️ Now, Doug and I had been dating about two and a half months when NYE rolled around. We talked about it, and after weighing the options we decided that we'd cobble together our own special New Year's Eve: I prepared appetizers (fresh mozzarella and roasted red peppers with fresh basil, drizzled with good olive oil and sprinkled with black pepper and a little kosher salt), and linguine with homemade alfredo sauce, shrimp, and garlic bread. We got dressed to the nines - a suit for him, full hair and makeup and a snazzy party dress and some OBSCENELY high-heeled shoes for me - and ate dinner and watched football all night.

Yes, there was definitely something amusing about the two of us sitting on his couch, in super-fancy attire, screaming various and sundry obscenities and cheers (terrifying both Prowler and Houdini in the process), but that was us: we figured out what worked for us, even when it was WAY outside the norm. Did I consider it in any way a sacrifice, or as if football was more important to Doug than I was? Ummm, no. Though, to be fair, we hadn't been dating long at that point, and football had been part of his life for decades; even if I DID take a back seat to football (which I didn't), it would've been reasonable. But it wasn't Doug who asked to skip going out; it ended up being my idea that we stay in and watch football, and no regrets, either. It was a beautiful evening. We watched football, we watched the ball drop, and then we moved the coffee table out of the way, put on some music, and slow danced. It was glorious.

That evening was the first time I ever got really dolled up for Doug, and his reaction was predictably adorable: his eyes got super big, and so did his smile. There may have been a wolf whistle. Worth every minute slaving with the curling iron, lemme tell ya. At some point in the evening (I think it was in the kitchen when I was making the alfredo sauce), Doug dropped a kiss on my shoulder and said, "You're lovable. Really." My girlfriends concluded that this was actually code for "I'm falling in love with you but it's way too early to say that." I had my doubts at the time, but in retrospect, they were probably right. 

I don't remember what songs we danced to. I don't remember what I made for dessert (but this is me we're talking about, so you know that whatever it was, it was good). I don't even remember what games we watched. But I sure remember how good it felt just being with Doug. I remember feeling his arms around me as we danced. I remember how he smelled. I remember how my heart skipped a beat when he kissed me. And I'll tell you what: more than four years later, even that very last kiss on February 17 before he was taken for surgery, my heart still skipped a beat every time we kissed. 

Knowing that I'll never have that again is heartbreaking. Doug brought magic into my life. How I miss him.

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