Hello there, my old drinking buddies. Er, not old. But not exactly young either. I like to call myself young-ish and in the same breath know that I have to acknowledge that I am old-ish. Like, "I'm not young, but I'm not old either. I'm young-ish and old-ish." It's a mouthful, but accurate.
So, it finally happened. After, 18 months of teaching virtually at home in my English basement seeing no one but my parents. After popping Zinc and Magnesium and Vitamin D and Vitamin C like they were skittles. After returning to hybrid learning and then in-person learning and then back to hybrid then in-person, well - you get it. After eating outside at a restaurant for the first time, after going to my first outdoor concert, after my book group returned to in-person ladies that drink bottles of wine. After 11, yes 11 first dates (10 from online dating apps, and 1 from a guy I met organically at a friend's party), it finally happened. I. got. COVID. Ugh.
And now, here I am. Yours truly, Hot Toddy. Sitting in my English basement. Seeing no one, not even my parents. And I'm in quarantine for Christmas. I hadn't even gotten a tree yet. I hadn't even put up a single decoration. I haven't mailed any gifts or baked any Christmas cookies. I'm just stuck here alone, at what used to me my favorite time of year, feeling sorry for myself.
Now, my mother, the gracious, supporting, loving angel that she is, when I told her that I felt sorry for myself said "Well, I feel sorry for myself too." "Really, Mom? Really? I'm fighting off an infectious disease that has invaded my body and I'm coughing so hard that sometimes I pee myself a little but um, what do you have to feel sorry about hmm?" "Well, so many people were worried about Omicron that I had to cancel my office holiday party. I was so looking forward to it." Mmmm-kay. mkay. (Maybe it's not such a bad thing that I'm spending Christmas alone after all). At any rate, this, was not helpful.
So, I called up my friend Alice. I've always been able to rely on Alice. To buoy me. To believe in me. When others - (such as ahem, mothers) - could not.
"What should I doooooooooo?" I asked, in the most annoying, pathetic, I've given up, because I'm banned to a basement for the holidays whiny voice.
Without skipping a beat, Alice said: "You should watch all of Sex and the City."
"What?" "
Yes, you should watch ALL of Sex and the City. Then you can watch the reboot."
BINGO.
"Yes. Yeeeeeeeees. This is the first good advice that I have gotten.
But -- I kinda recall the very first episode being about how all single women over 35 should just give up on men and shrivel up and die. Right? Which didn't bother me when it came out on June 6, 1998, when I was 15 years old! But now that I'm 38 years old, it's a bit of a tougher pill to swallow."
"I mean, yes I noticed that. But, the rest of the entire show is about proving that wrong. They swan around being fabulous."
"Yeah, I guess that's true. Besides, I need some inspiration for 2022. Newly divorced. Online dating (*shudder*). So, I'll give it a shot. To dating in a post-pandemic world in my late 30's. To online dating even! (*shudder* *shudder*). To best friends who still love you know matter who you date or what diseases you catch. Because isn't that what it's really all about?
So, let's do this dear readers, dear drinking buddies:
IT'S TIME FOR my REBOOT.
Is it also time for yours?...
Love and Bourbon,
Hot Toddy <3
