A Christmas party. Friends to hug, strangers to meet. A room warm enough to wear heels, flirty black dress, glittering, dangling earrings, hair up, guard down.
The bar and buffet table tempt and treat without a single dish containing tuna or peanut butter.
Faces recede, and the warmth of this place, of these souls, gives light to my heart and my face — or is it the gin?– regardless, a true gift of Christmas.
Across the room, a man glances my way and smiles. I am surprised to remember I arrived with this one, and will leave with him too. He is kind, intelligent and curious, I have no idea how that happened.
Dance music playing somewhere beckons couples without frenzy, the room is alive with the season and community, inside and out…
I am transfixed by Christmas lights on a dark, rainy night. Opting to pay for outdoor lighting, rather than indoor lamps or heat, my house is dark and chilly at 54F.
Thick socks, thermal underwear, jeans, turtleneck, shirt, sweater, hoodie and ubiquitous stretch knit gloves replace the gay apparel of my flight of fancy. My Santa hat is a nice touch though.
I have not been asked to dance in 20 years. I think it far more likely I will meet my end with a terrorist than a kind man.
But one is not the loneliest number. That dubious distinction belongs to two in a poor relationship of any duration. Though my future is uncertain, the bright filaments of coloured strings of lights warm my heart even as my skin is cold.
Lights in the darkness, warmth amidst the cold. Life is good.
Shouldn't...but Do 
Love this posting – sounds full of promise of brighter days ahead.