The Stroke of Midnight

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At midnight, I was sitting on the couch upstairs, playing around on my computer. The Ogre’s folks were watching Downton Abbey, and Ogre was pouring us glasses of Martinelli’s Sparkling Apple Cider. We raised our glasses in a toast — “Happy new year! Fuck off, 2013!” — and drank. Then I got up and went over to the other couch to give Ogre a very chaste midnight kiss — as he’d had some sugar-free Halls several hours before, and I did not want to risk any lingering aspartame passing to my mouth.

It was a relatively quiet night — no fireworks, just some neighbors banging pots and pans. The cats barely woke up to register the passing of midnight.

Now it’s 4 am. Ogre and I have not yet gone to sleep — he is looking at his “Random Picks” list on Netflix and saying “I feel like I should be insulted” because it’s populated by Barney and more crap he’d never watch. It’s amusing, and I am sitting here laughing at him.

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