Unless there's a Project Runway marathon on New Year's Eve, I could easily be asleep by eleven. Actually, I've kind of had it with those snotty judges being so hard on those snotty designers.

New Year's Eve often reminds me of my dating years post-marriage and pre- "let's-just-face-the-music." There were a good fifteen to twenty years in which I dipped my toes - and my dignity - in and out of the dating pool. I scored several cherished memories and lots of embarrassing belly flops.

The most typical blind dates were what a friend and I called Refrigerator Dates. A Refrigerator Date starts off well and along the way goes south, as the man describes other women in his life in the most vulgar terms, reveals that he hasn't seen his children in years, or invites you back to his hot tub. My generation, unfortunately raised to be polite, sits it out. When the agonizing – no, it's not too strong a word - effort is over, you arrive home, park your car, let yourself in, go to the refrigerator and lean your forehead against it. After a time you get out the ice cream. A Refrigerator Date.

Sometimes it's not the conversation at all. I once went out with a man who arrived in what I think are called balloon pants. Naturally, we ran into some of my friends that night. Another time, on a second date, too, a very nice heavyset man took me to an outdoor concert. We ran into some people I worked with. When he tried to rise from the lawn chair, he could not remove it from his rather generous hips.

Men, I imagine, have Refrigerator Dates, too. I'm guessing that first they realize that the dinner they're going to pay for is with a woman who has lied about her age and her weight (men consistently lie about their height). After that, and this is only a guess, she talks about her rotten ex-husband, his rotten new wife, and then grills him about his income, and their future together.

I, of course, never did any of that. Instead I got right to my left-wing politics, gave a full discourse on movies he might not have seen and books he might not have read. I think I generally made it clear that I do not suffer fools gladly. What's not to love?

Happy New Year, dear readers. May you keep your memory as well as your memories.