2006 was a busy one. I barely had time to notice the seasons change, let alone obsess over how people dressed.
Until the last thirty minutes of the year.
We stayed home New Year’s Eve. The kids were down with colds, so we figured our familial presence would not be missed at our friends’ party. So the kids went to bed early and Steve and I got into pajamas, turned on the TV and watched the countdown parties in bed.
First we saw the party in Arizona. Happy crowds waved sparkly stuff and a chic TV host dressed in what was likely a gratuitous winter coat and leather gloves pretended she was having the time of her life.
Then we flipped to the party in Times Square in NY. Happy crowds waved red inflatable tubes and a chic TV host dressed in a probably much-needed white furry coat pretended she was having the time of her life.
Next we flipped to the party in Nathan Phillips Square in Toronto. Happy crowds waved pastel inflatable tubes and a chic TV host dressed in a strapless red ballgown pretended she wasn’t shivering herself into hypothermic shock. I should add that the temperature was about 29 degrees Farenheit with windchill. To make matters worse, it was raining. An icy, Canadian, cold-enough-to-be-snow rain.
Yes, I was excited about the new year arriving, especially this one. Yes, I was interested in hearing my husband’s New Year’s resolutions. But I couldn’t look away from the thin red dress.
I wondered if she’d wake up sick the next day. I wondered if she’d been turned down for the Carribean assignment. I wondered if she had Hot Paws in her shoes. I wondered if her mother was watching.
Lying in the dark an hour and a half later, wondering why she couldn’t have had her Cinderella moment in, say, a red coat, I realized something. I haven’t evolved much from the toddler stage. I spend far too much time wondering -why? Specifically, why people do the things they do. I resolved to cut out the obsessing – at least long enough to get a full night’s sleep.
I’ll get right on that. As soon as I figure out why I do it.