Last night Rob and I rang in the new year by having a very late dinner at a very nice restaurant. We got all gussied up and had a lovely 5-course meal with champagne and very intimate conversation (because it just so happened that the person Rob wanted to tell me a story about, a story he had specifically waited until dinner to tell me, was sitting at the next table! What are the chances?! And so we both leaned in so that our heads were almost touching and we spoke in hushed whispers and I'm sure everyone around us thought, "Oh, look how in love they are!" when actually we were just gossiping).

Anyway. I ordered goose and Rob ordered the loin of lamb. Yes, LOIN! I know, right? LOIN!! I mean, tenderloin would have been one thing, but loin by itself is funny, right? Or maybe I just have the maturity of a 7th grade boy, because I thought it was a HOOT but Rob just sorta looked at me strangely. LOIN of lamb! And then of course he decided that's what he wanted, the loin of lamb. And of course when the waiter took our orders, Rob didn't say "I'd like the lamb." Oh no. He said, "I'd like the loin of lamb." And it was all I could do not to laugh in both their faces. I chortled a bit, I'll admit. But honestly, who actually says "loin of lamb"? I mean, I ordered the honey glazed goose breast, but I didn't say "breast." I said, "I'd like the honey glazed goose, please." Dude knew what I meant. Let's keep the loins and breasts out of it, is all I'm saying.

ANYWAY. The meal was great (which means expensive - $200 - which I am only telling you because it is relevant later and also let me add that we had a gift certificate because I just don't want you getting the wrong idea, not that there is anything wrong with paying $200 for a meal because I don't think there is but nonetheless for some reason I want you all to know that we didn't). We toasted to 2005, which at the time I found to be quite lovely but now think was perhaps a mistake, and then we left the restaurant and walked downtown a few blocks just in time to see the fireworks. And we kissed and I clapped and it was all very Happy New Year.

Or so it seemed. But I was soon to learn that the new year had it out for me.

I came to bed 20 minutes after Rob because while men can just GO to bed, women have this whole pre-bed routine which I find extremely unfair but that is another post entirely. So I crawled into bed 20 minutes after Rob and found him to be very much asleep. So I cozied up to him all sexily and he responded with "Uhhh." So I cozied up even more sexily and he muttered, "Can't. Stuffed. Too much meat. Might get sick. Morning." Yeah, dude totally Not Tonight, Dear-ed me! Although I can't say I was terribly upset since I've played that card a few times myself. But I just didn't get it because I, personally, felt GREAT. Not too stuffed, not at all sick. FABULOUS, really.

And then I woke up at 4:45 to the rumbling in my stomach. You know the rumbling. The rumbling that is so formidable that you are afraid to move even a centimeter for fear that the rumbling will erupt. And so you clench your jaw and break out into a sweat and when it gets really bad you make teeny tiny mouse moans because anything more than that would require you to part your lips and everyone knows that breaking that seal is the biggest mistake you can make. And so I lay there in agony until eventually Rob sensed my discomfort and woke up and said, "Honey? You okay? What's wrong? Can I get-"

"Shhh. Sounds make it worse," I mumbled, careful to keep my jaw firmly clamped and my lips pressed tightly together.

And so we lay there in silence. At some point I realized that really nothing could be more miserable than the rumbling and the clenching and the occasional uncontrollable writhing and so I went into the bathroom and eased myself down onto the floor. My hope was that maybe, just by being near the toilet, my body would realize what was inevitable and snap the fuck out of it already. Alas, that didn't happen. The new year had deprived me of sex and given me the toilet to cling to instead. (Although I will say that Rob came in, very concerned, in the middle of it all and although I shooed him away, his offer to be with me totally made up for the Not Tonight, Dear thing.)

Awhile later I came back into the bedroom, slowly sipping soda. "I just threw up one hundred dollars into the toilet."

Rob chuckled. "Well now you can say you've been purged of all your mistakes from 2005." The thing is, and I know this will make me sound very George W. Bush, but I can't really think of any mistakes from 2005. It was a really good year. So good that we toasted to it when we probably should have toasted to 2006 instead.

Y'all, I fear the new year is a jealous, grudge-holding bitch.