A New Year’s resolution is an explicit recognition of a past failure and a likely candidate for a future one. I no longer make New Year’s illusions. My wife, however, still participates in that ritual. She has three resolutions for 2012.
First, Kellie wants our family to become more active, and by family she means me. Yes, I have put on a few pounds since retiring, but in my defense, I don’t care. Kellie is concerned about appearances. She keeps reminding me that she’s hot and other people will speculate about why we are together. I’m not concerned, I know exactly what people will think. They’ll assume that I either have money or that I’m well endowed. I see no reason to let the truth constrain their imaginations.
Kellie’s second resolution is to get a part time job, and by job she means paycheck. Kellie has been out of the job market for a while and her employment expectations may be somewhat unrealistic. She’s looking for a position with a flexible schedule, 90 vacation days per year, and paid time off for all federal and major religious holidays. Pay is negotiable; she’s looking for a six-figure income, but she’ll settle for $95,000. There are only a few professional positions that satisfy her requirements, but she’s not that kind of girl.
Her third and final resolution is to learn to speak French, and by learning French she means flying to Paris. This is not the first time she has tried to rationalize her vacations by citing their educational value. She has previously claimed that traveling helps her learn geography. The other day I overheard her debating with our youngest daughter about whether Connecticut was a city or a state. While the need for geography lessons is critically urgent, I’ll be broke before her cartographic knowledge equals that of Ms. South Carolina.
If she looked like Miss Carolina I wouldn’t care if she could spell map.
I could write more, but Kellie is calling me. She wants me to eat the oatmeal she made for breakfast before she takes me out for a three mile run.
