//------------------------------// // 8: Auld Lang Syne // Story: An Even Worse Self Insert // by ROBCakeran53 //------------------------------// “Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne.” Growing up, I rarely ever got to witness the turning of the new year. It wasn’t because I had a curfew, or school the next day. Usually, we worked. Newspapers had a tendency to fall upon any holiday they could, because mainly back in the hay-days they ran every day. There was no such thing as a day off, or night in our case. We worked; we drove. Well, I didn’t drive, I was too young for those early years, but I’d ride in the back of our old panel van and put the newspapers together and bag them to be delivered. It wasn’t until a few years ago, when I’d finally rid myself of that job and I’d been able to actually attend a party with some friends. Apparently it had been a while, because when the ball started to go down, I commented about “what happened to the apple? It used to be an apple.” That was like, fourteen years ago or something, I forget. Point was, I missed it most of my life. However, there was one thing that always had me thinking about the new year. “This song sounds sad.” I didn’t even bother looking over to the mare beside me. “Not suppose to be sad. More like a melancholy feeling.” Twilight didn’t bother looking at me either, instead she was fascinated by watching the television screen. While the audio was muted in favor for the record, she was still writing down notes about what she saw on a random note pad I’d had sitting nearby. I wanted to ask if she understood the idea of a ballpoint pen, but considering she didn’t ask me and just went ahead and started writing I figured Equestria wasn’t so backwards after all. “So, do you have any resolutions?” I grabbed my glass of bourbon, taking a long swig. “The same as always. Don’t die.” I felt the notepad smack the back of my head after I realized I’d spilled half my drink from the sudden contact. “What the hell gives?” I stood up, brushing off some of the nearly melted ice cubes onto my floor, not caring that they’d melt. “That’s not anything to joke about! I’m being serious, do you have anything you want to achieve this new year?” What was it with women never taking a joke? Or was it that I just had really bad jokes? “I mean, I always have yearly resolutions. Nothing particular, just the usual stuff like fixing something or cleaning up some of my stuff.” “Well, considering the last time I was here, you’ve done a pretty good job at cleaning.” “I even vacuumed.” Twilight raised a hoof to her muzzle, the clear expression of fake shoke on her face. “I know, poor Eureka hasn’t been worked like this in years.” “Is that the yellow one, or the green one?” “Yellow. Green one is the Hoover. Both have stories behind them, though.” “Oh?” Twilight set the pen down and shifted her body to look at me. I waved my hand at her. “Another time; everything I own has a story, you know that. Right now though, it’s almost time for a once in a year treat.” I stood and restarted the record again, then walked over towards my glass shelf and got another lowball glass and bottle of bourbon. Twilight watched the television with wonder as the announcers, I forget their names, talked and interviewed couples in Time Square. Careful not to go too crazy, I poured a little in the clean glass and my own. I’d already had two, and while it wasn’t a resolution per say, I was still trying to cut back. “Here. Take this.” Twilight looked at the glass with surprise. “I don’t drink.” “Oh come now, you came here on a holiday. You’re legally bound to have a little nip.” “I don’t think that’s a law…” “It’s a law in this house, now take it.” With a huff and puff of her cheeks, Twilight took the glass in her magic and took a sniff of the offending beverage. “Yeah, I know it probably isn’t  your kind of drink, but it’s all I got. Everything else I put away downstairs.” “Why’s that?” I took my rightful seat once again, the couch bouncing from the weight shift. “Because while you were gone the last month, I did some stupid things and decided I needed to rethink some of my life decisions. “Like drinking?” “Among other things, yes.” “So you’re… quitting?” I lifted my glass. “Does this look like quitting? No, I’m cutting back, and while people might say I’m not cutting back, I actually am.” “But, why not just quit?” I stood again to start the record over. With a heavy sigh, I pulled the lever back and turned around. “Because every time I tell people I’m quitting, I end up disappointing them, or upsetting them, because I break the promise and drink anyway. It’s how I am, it’s how I will always be. I like to drink. What people don’t get, is I learned my lesson that I was drinking for all the wrong reasons before. I get it now, I understand, but I feel like they still don’t see it.” I took my seat, then picked up my glass again. I looked up to the television, the countdown had just hit sixty seconds. “I don’t want to be an alcoholic, or a drunk, but I know I am, and I’ve accepted that. Now, I just need to work on being better for myself and others. However, I’m not strong enough on my own to go full bore, so… I have to settle with cutting back. A couple drinks here and there. Other people do it just fine, so why can’t I, right?” I looked to Twilight; she nodded her head. I then saw lights flashing in her giant eyes, and her focus shifted to the television screen. I followed my gaze, and the big numbers were flashing starting at ten, then nine, eight, seven… “Six… five… four…” Twilight joined in, “three… two… one…” Then the screen exploded in bright colours and excitement. The record player shut off with a clunk, so I grabbed my remote and unmuted the audio, and that all familiar song started to play. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne.” I raised my glass along with the words, and Twilight was quick to follow my lead as I sang along. Before too long, the damn network cut off the song and replaced it with a Frank Sinatra song. While nice, still, it was awfully rude to cut off that song meant for this time of the year. Guy Lombardo would be rolling in his grave at such a sin. I pressed the power button, turning off the television, then faced Twilight and clinked my glass to hers. “Happy new year.” Twilight copied me, tapping her glass to mine, “happy new year.” She didn’t need further instruction as she drank the small sip of bourbon along with me. As funny as it was to watch her go through a coughing fit for five minutes afterwards, the company was much more meaningful than the later teasing would be. Lightweights, you can call them from a mile away...