Out of Kilter presents:
A Quagmire of Resolutions
By Ken Carpenter
I have a painful secret to confess. A few years ago, before Christmas, I murdered a resident of my household, one that had been hanging around since my first wedding in 1978.
The murder weapon was a stiff bowl of Velveeta fudge, and the hapless victim was a General Electric hand mixer.
In human years, I figure the old boy was about 178 years old, but he went out in a blaze of glory, smoke boiling like a coal-fired tramp steamer. I knew he was getting a little bit feeble, but I didn’t think I was signing his death warrant when I whipped up the fudge.
He did have the last laugh though, because I almost strained every muscle in my arm finishing up the stirring with a spoon. At least the fudge was edible, even if I did have to eat it left-handed. I should point out that it was only edible for me.
My son did not agree, vehemently defending Velveeta’s right to marry macaroni, toasted cheese sandwiches or eggs, but not fudge. So, one of my New Years resolutions then became promising not to murder any more useful members of my family unit.
Keep in mind I said useful. There is only room for one slacker in this house, and I have had dibs on that position for years. Making resolutions may not be as modern a practice as people tend to think.
Historians say that Ancient Babylonians started the tradition of New Year resolutions. I don’t know what kind of resolutions they might have made. Maybe resolving not to mistakenly urinate in the beer pot instead of the pee pot would have been fairly common.
I hear that many today are eschewing cliches and making creative goals such as practicing daily handstands and reading books of all genres. I suppose if I try to make any resolution this year, one could be “No more slacking during daylight hours!” I’m sure I can keep that one for 27 minutes after I get up on New Years Day.
I tend to be a bit of a sluggard in the morning. Speaking of sluggards, even the most energetic souls can become lethargic when it comes to keeping their New Years resolutions. They are a big waste of time if you try to take them seriously, and an even bigger one if you don’t.
Personally, I have always found a waste of time to be irresistible, so I no longer fight the allure to an impossible resolution. My second resolution is hopefully the first one I will ever seriously try to keep from breaking. “I resolve to never again absent-mindedly scratch my butt in the grocery store, even if I think nobody is looking.”
Sharp-eyed matrons with poor luck, impeccable timing and an appointment with the absurd have caught me a couple of times in my life. I don’t think my feigned expression of slack jawed innocence fooled any of them.
I can’t help it; I guess I just have an itchy rump. Since I quite often rely on New Years themes with a hint of mortification to them.
I’ll try to never again blame the dogs if by some quirk of fate I end up fouling the atmosphere. Not that it ever worked anyway. There are few things in the world as sensitive as the olfactory senses of a human female.
If they had been designed with their noses closer to the ground, there would be no need for bloodhounds. Last and certainly least, I resolve to be a veritable mountain of generosity every time I have to judge my fellow man.
No matter how moronic, petty, stubborn, opinionated, vindictive, mean, selfish, or dishonest some of them might prove themselves to be, I will give them the benefit of the doubt. I will not mutter under my breath that they are hateful, blubber-jowled jerks.
“As if!” Jerks should not be rewarded, and I am a big, fat liar.