New Year’s Delusion - A state of euphoria that overwhelms the senses and dulls the brain into believing that a courtship that developed on New Year’s Eve is 1) long-lasting, 2) the dreamboat of relationships, and 3) real.
Symptoms include, but are not limited to:
1. Constant gushing about the guy/girl.
2. Using the word “love” way too soon. All sense of reality is lost.
3. Completely unaware that your friends are rolling their eyes at you.
“Really?” I responded, voice full of doubt. “You dropped the L-bomb already?”
“Of course! We’re even talking about having kids,” she replied, her eyes glazed over with the thought of breast pumps and diapers.
That was the point at which I pulled out my date planner to confirm that it was in fact still January 11th, 2008, and time had not warped itself forward a year into 2009. When was the L-bomb dropped? On the 5th? And you broke up with your 3-year boyfriend on the 10th? What other rational explanation could there be but love?
A kind and gracious friend would have told her, “Well I am happy for you. This banker by day, DJ by night sounds like a sure catch. What color palate are you thinking about for the wedding ceremony?” But I couldn’t even summon the strength to muster up an encouraging smile and, “Well I hope it all works out for the best.” Instead I did what a real friend would do and told her in laymen terms that she was delusional. Of course, she didn’t appreciate my undiplomatic use of the terms, “crazy,” “too fast,” and “insane,” or my reassurance that the sensation she was feeling was lust, not love. I’m pretty sure that she would have dumped her Diet Coke on my head if she could.
She denied my claim as I knew she would, re-stating for the 17th time in the past 20 minutes that their “fucking” was “passionate love making,” and that she felt very much like a penguin who could mate with this man for life. All the while, she grinned like her delusional sister from another mother, Britney Spears. Then she threw out the infamous and defensive, “You’re just jealous.”
In a single second it caught up to me. Five years of being truly single—of bad dates, blind dates, overweight hockey players, sexually confused theatre people, liars, cheap bastards, drunk dials, “I just want to be friends,” and “I’m not looking for anything serious,” with the end result being a secure sense of self, grounded by a mixture of maturity and cynicism—it all fell out of my mouth in one cruel swoop:
“You better watch yourself. To discuss children after 11 days of knowing someone is ridiculous. That is a serious conversation for a couple that has known each other longer than a week and a half. Now I know you must really like this guy you boned the shit out of on the drunkest night of the year, but if this is the fresh start you’re looking for, maybe you should get your head out of your ass and see if he sticks around if you don’t have sex. You’re older than me, you should know better, and I’m not going to be there to hold your hand if it doesn’t work out. You can think I’m jealous all you want, but the guy I kissed on New Year’s, we have a lunch date next week, not a 5-year plan.”
When my rant was complete and my visual aid (day planner) snapped shut, she got up, left her Diet Coke on the table, and walked out of the room. I may never hear from her again.
So that was the drama this week. I’m sure many of you out there suffer from friends with the same symptoms, so perhaps you’ll learn from me and be able to handle the situation better. I don’t think you could handle it any worse than with the fierce tongue of honesty.
