Oh the excitement of New Year’s Eve! The perfect little black dress, impossibly high heels, dazzling rhinestones, an invitation to THE New Year’s Eve party of the year, a handsome and suave “New Year’s Eve Date,” a fluted glass of champagne, cute foods, counting down with the crowd, getting magically kissed right at the stroke of midnight (the primary purpose of said “New Year’s Eve Date”), singing Auld Lang Syne with one’s dearest friends, starting on that new year’s resolution to lose ten pounds (tomorrow)…
Oh the glamour! The style! The fantasy! As the child of immigrants, with my nose pressed up against the glass, it all seemed so exquisitely “American” and romantic, “better” in a way that as a child I had somehow decided that cars with trunks, ten-speed bikes, store-bought clothes, Adidas running shoes, and the symphony must be “better” and “more American,” because they were things “real Americans” (read Caucasian Americans) took for granted but which my sensible immigrant family would never indulge. I thought we were so uncultured and uncouth. (click on link for more)
Wishing for an American New Year's Eve - AnnArbor.com
No comments:
Post a Comment