Hank and I didn't have a New Year's Eve plan, nor did we have a babysitter for Daisy, so we figured it would be a pretty mellow evening at home. I wasn't even committed to staying up until midnight, which is a little unusual for me, given that I'm so anal about time and I usually get such a kick out of numbers rounding up into bigger numbers.
Just as I had resigned myself to an epically boring New Year's Eve, we got a call from a parent of one of Daisy's friends. They wanted to know if Daisy could come over to their house for a sleepover that evening.
A sleepover. On New Year's Eve.
Hoo hoo! It wasn't going to be ME having an epically boring New Year's Eve, it was going to be Daisy's friend's parents! Our house would be seven-year-old-free! I won!
It was time to host a party. We'd find out exactly how many of our close friends were also too lame to have made compelling New Year's Eve plans.
Hank and I sprang into action. I scoured the Internet for information on how to make champagne in your bathtub. Meanwhile, Hank examined the state of our kitchen. She looked at the empty dishwasher and the shiny sink and the cabinets full of clean dishes. She got that faraway dreamy look in her eye that I hate so much.
"We're going to have a dinner party," Hank stated.
"What will we serve?" I asked cautiously.
"I don't know yet, but I think I can dirty every dish we own."
So, I cleaned up the house and removed the seven year-old while Hank shopped and cooked. We also called around and were astonished to find our favorite friends were so lame that they didn't have anything better to do than come to our house for a hastily organized New Year's Eve party (okok, Jay and his wife DID have better things to do, but they still stopped by for a while).
By 8:00pm the dinner guests had arrived and the appetizers had emerged from the oven. There were cute little toasts with sundried tomatoes, and baked salmon on some crazy grain mix, and a salad overflowing with gourmet oddities that have no business being in a salad. It was all very tasty. For dessert Hank had whipped up some brownies in a raspberry sauce, accompanied by ice cream. Mmmmm. Hank insisted that it was made even tastier by the fact that it was served on dishes too delicate to be washed in the dishwasher.
Afterwards we played some poker, watched enough seconds of Dick Clark to be depressed and horrified, and generally reveled in good company.
It was one of my better New Year's Eves. Thank you, Hank and good/lame friends.