The 21st-century version of glamour

New Year’s Eve has always been something of a bust for me, and I think that is the result of a hyperactive imagination. It’s not that the night isn’t pleasant because it is always a lovely evening of quiet, marking time and snacking on good food.

As a kid getting through high school, it seemed like the decades of New Year’s Eve parties that lay ahead promised admittance to a secret, elegant world of glamorous evenings, music, champagne and stolen kisses.

I had no reason to think this would be the case, as my parents certainly didn’t have entree to this imaginary world.

I can’t remember them going out much for that night, especially after they got a bit older. I remember staying up with them to watch television and seeing the ball drop in Times Square, which is pretty much how all of my New Year’s Eve evenings have gone throughout my adult life.

I remember a nice party with friends as the clock ticked over from 1999-2000 and another at a new friend’s place three years ago, but that’s it.

Our area has no shortage of gatherings and businesses hosting big parties, but I’ve always found large crowds of people to be difficult to work my way through successfully. Speaking before a large group is not a problem; making small talk with three people I barely know is absolute torment.

I once wrote a public service announcement on the wisdom of spaying and neutering pets, and the theme was our dogs and cats don’t miss out on parenthood because life is not a Disney movie.

In the movies Spot and Mitsy have a nice wedding and little tykes that they send to school and adore. In reality their puppies may well end up in a shelter. Expecting life to be like the movies is a recipe for disappointment, a recipe I’ve followed every year.

An ideal New Year’s Eve would see gentlemen with perfectly knotted bow ties and mirror-shined shoes. They would have smooth faces and a little hair jelly keeping things in order.

Ladies would be in full stocking apparatus, poofy skirts, and have rich, red nails, lips and cheeks. There would be wafts of dangerous cigarette smoke, pyramid-stacked champagne glasses and music with a mellow brass section.

Snacks would be of the canapé variety, tucked up next to wide bowls of crushed ice chilling a mound of shellfish. You could hear stiletto heels clipping off to the dance floor and catch breezes of passing perfume.

I have a tux, two in fact, and neither of them fit. My glossy, black oxfords are still packed in a box somewhere, and I balk at the price of champagne every time I consider buying a bottle.

We’ll stay in, loaded up with snacks and a pile of movies to watch, and that’ll be fine. I’d rather have a quiet night with family and get ensconced on the couch under a soft blanket than go anywhere, truthfully. That fancy New Year’s Eve party will stay in my mind, where it is safe from the intrusions of reality.

Our favorite eats for that night are simple crostini. A crispy baguette gets sliced into thin pieces, and each gets a smear of cream cheese, brie or goat cheese, then a layer of smoked salmon or a sauté of cherry tomatoes, some olive oil, salt and a little dill and then baked in a 400 F oven for a few minutes until the cheese melts.

You can do whatever you want with such a dish, and you might just want to toast the bread slices and use them to dip into all manner of concoctions. We’ve also gotten a dozen oysters at times or just shrimp cocktail.

You can make your own magical night this weekend, be safe indoors and text a big Happy New Year to everyone on your list. It’s the 21st-century version of glamour.