Ready with Resolutions
Last year, I was standing around about midnight when everyone shined the New Year's Resolution spotlight on me - and I choked. The others had amazing resolutions.
One guy said he was going to fly to Cote du Rhone and teach tourists how to properly pronounce the name of the island. Another said he was going to change to an all-foraged diet, taking his food directly from the land like our ancestors. My wife said she was going to try to see the miraculous in the mundane. Then they looked at me and I blurted out, "I'm gonna climb mount laundry."
And I was serious.
This year, I'll be ready. After everyone plies the room with hippy manifestos, I'm going to reveal my short list of New Year's Resolutions, ones I will actually keep.
I will fix that one doorknob. It fell off the door six weeks ago. I don't know how a doorknob falls off a door. Maybe it jumped. Maybe it couldn't take it anymore. I know I can't take it anymore after going through the whole junk drawer looking for things that will fit in the hole to open the door to the basement (spatula, turkey baster, raw carrot).
I will invent grow-able shoes. I've given up trying to keep my Sasquatchian son properly shod. We bought him a pair of Chucks the other day and he outgrew them on the way home. I just added them to the enormous mountain of discarded new shoes we've been collecting over the last two years. I'm going to use them to build a new house. It would be a lot easier if I could just stick his feet into a bucket of nano-goop that would turn into shoes that grew with his feet.
I will shave my dog. There is no part of my life without dog hair in it. It's in my towels, my toothbrush, my burritos - I found a dog hair in an ice cube yesterday. I love my dog, he's beautiful, like Lassie, but he sheds like a dog hair yard sprinkler and I can't take it anymore. Is he going to look post-apocalyptic? Yes. Will I care? Are you kidding me?
I will stop going to McDonalds when the kids can't agree on what I'm going to cook for supper and I'm too tired to care if they gain 300 pounds. Taco Bell is better anyway.
I will scale mount laundry and at the top I will plant an underwear flag. I will build a small house from discarded Tide lids. I'll sew drapes from dryer sheets. I'll plant a small garden on my son's dirty jeans and grow cabbage. It'll be peaceful, quiet. I'll paint pictures of the view (I can see all the way to the basement bar/empty VHS box graveyard) and sell them to passersby for a pittance. They'll sit with me for tea and I'll tell stories about my journey from the floor, up the ravine of ironic T-shirts, through gym shorts pass, and rappelling across the great tube sock divide.