When I think about it, I don't believe I've ever actually had a date for New Years Eve. Okay, I was married for twenty years and fell asleep on the couch with my husband on numerous December thirtyones only to wake up to the new year. This is not a date, merely another night. We did attend a few parties on this night in question given by friends, and I remember going out to a lovely dinner a time or two, so maybe those count as dates. For me personally, to qualify as a date, there must be a phone call at least a day ahead, where plans are made involving various forms of entertainment, clothing choices are agonized over, and iffy hair choices are destined to be memorialized in photographs. In my dating years prior to marriage, I recall having a steady beau on perhaps two of the ringing in the year eves. One of those perhaps qualifies as a date even though details escape my memory, but the other consisted of attending a party where he overindulged. We were in the midst of a long drawn out breakup process, and I ended up holding the bucket that he was heaving the contents of his entire, I mean entire digestive system into, as the new year arrived. My fondness for him was fading at this time anyway, and I suppose I could have left him passed out in his running vehicle in the sub zero winter night, but I'm just not that kind of girl. Leaving a number of New Years Eve pasts open for possibilities that never materialized. As for the one four days from now, I'll most likely end up taking the younger son out for dinner. Or getting him a pizza and going out alone. It would be fun if I were contemplating the whole package...Plan A would involve a date, a dress, and a dinner destination. Dare I add dancing? But somehow, warm fuzzy jammies, a movie or two, and my own personal bottle of bubbly sound like a good Plan B should Plan A fail to come calling. One thing is certain, 2011 will show up whether I celebrate or not. And this girl is looking forward to a year worth celebrating.