cut/ Chris Azzopardi sits on Santa's lap at his Nana's house, wishing for a glittery My Little Pony instead of a boyfriend. If only he knew then what he knows now.
Every Christmas Eve I'm reminded that my life could turn out to be like Sandra Bullock's near-miss encounter with love in "While You Were Sleeping." And every Christmas I hope it's not.
Our festive Christmas Eve celebration, where I eat too many pastizzis (delectably fatty) and try to ignore my uncle's political banter, isn't the same as it used to be. Especially as I age and realize that I've been single for far too long.
My cousins, all within a few years of myself, are having mini Maltese critters and exchanging vows; Christmas Eve at Nana's, for myself at least, is the time where I get to tell my family, again, that I'm
My Nana, in her thick Mediterranean accent, used to ask me, "Where's your girlfriend?" But that stopped when my sexual orientation meandered through the family faster than the calories I sucked down at her house on the night before Christmas. I could be single for every Christmas from here on out, but would my family notice?
A couple of weeks ago I was instant messaging my cousin Lisa and telling her how I'd like to bring a beau to my Nana's. She said, "One day we both will bring a guy to our Christmas Eve celebration."
Let's hope.
People tell me I'm too young to worry about being man-less. But my Nana is nearly 90. For once, I'd like her to see me glow 'cause I'm in love and tell my boyfriend upon meeting him, with her fragile hands on his face, "Oh, so nice to meet you, joya (joy of my life)."
Maybe, like Sandra, my beau will fall into a coma after being beaten up and left on a train track. After all these years sauntering through bars and Internet dating services, and all I needed to do was camp out by the railroad? Ah, if only it were that easy.
This Christmas Eve will be just like the last. And the one before that. I'll be weaving in and out of catch-up conversations with my Greek-size family, piling up the calories, rubbing my cousin Amy's near-birthing belly – and wishing that one day I'll be able to say, with my arm around his waist, "This is _______."
