Mustard Resolves

"GRETCHEEEEEEEEEE - breath - EEENNNNNNN!!"

Mustard is yelling at me from the Living Room again.

I am trying to ignore him because he is watching one of the ubiquitous "Decade in Review" shows, and he's very concerned that A) my decade wasn't as productive as it should have been and B) that I start making preparations STAT to not waste the decade to come.

Personally, I think -- and I always think this, so there's nothing new here -- but I think he's full of crap. This decade was chock-a-block packed with excitement. Except for 2007 - that year was totally forgetable.

"GRETCHEN! Since you are too old and decrepit to join me when I call for you, you best be preparing yourself for my imminent arrival."

Oh great. He's coming upstairs to disturb my peace.

"Alright little miss. We've got to have a serious talk."

"I already know what you're going to say, so you might as well spare us both the lecture." I respond. Everyday its some new suggestion: Hey, you know what you should do? Bungee Jumping! or Stock Car Racing! or Cliff Diving in Buenos Aires. Mustard doesn't inhabit the same plane of reality that the rest of us do where there are such things as jobs and meals to prepare.

"Oh? You think you know, do you?" he counters.

"I think I have the general idea," I say while filing my nails. "Perhaps something along the lines of how my life would be so great if I would only start a fight club with the women at church. The details vary, of course, but the absurdity remains the same."

"A fight club at church!? THAT IS GENIUS!! Think of the scrunchies flying! The hymnal backhanding alone would be phenomenal! You know those ladies would love to claw each others eyes out every once in a while. Why, oh WHY don't you have the gumption to put into practice things like this?" He gets a sad, pleading look on his face, "You are wasting your natural talents, Gretchen. It. is. a. Tragedy."

I shrug and start filing the left hand.

"You pain me. You really do," Mustard whispered before pausing to collect himself. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and stoically said, "Well. You are right. That is generally the kind of thing I would be PROUD to see you do. But after almost TEN years together I like to think that I have learned how to work within the confines of your timid little life. And so, I was not going to suggest something awesome like a Brazilian Rainforest Expedition or that amazing fight club idea, instead I was going to suggest that I help you set your New Years resolutions. Heaven knows you need help setting good goals."

"My goals are fine!" I say.

"Oh really? And what was your New Years Resolution last year?"

"Um. To meet straight men?" I smile hopefully.

"Exacty. To meet straight men. And how many straight men did you meet this year?"

"Like fift---"

"WITHOUT counting co-workers!" he cut in. "We're talking about eligbile for dating men."

"Oh. Probably like ... well there was ... and ..." I say while mentally counting and discarding. "Let's call it two."

"Two? Aren't you exaggerating a little bit? Yes. I thought so. You met ONE. One straight man. And he was a weirdo. Your specialty, so I'm not surprised. But the point remains. You had ONE goal this year and you failed. Miserably. Clearly, someone has to help you. And unfortunately, I, once again, am left holding the bag."

"Don't feel obliged to do me any favors, my dear Mustard. I'll have you know that I've already put together my New Years Resolutions. And they are quite good, if I say so myself."

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow. "Astonish me."

"Well, you know how I got this new job, right? And I've been working my booty off, and not getting anything else done?"

"Go on."

"Well I've decided that this year's theme will be Balance."

"Gretchen. PLEASE PLEASE PLEAAAAAASE say that you are getting a subscription at a trapeeze gym! That takes tons of balance!"

"No, moron. That's not the kind of balance I'm talking about." I shake my head. The lad never loses hope, you can say that for him. "I'm going to bring balance back into my life by, you know, having a life? Rather than working 24/7."

"Fine. Boring, but fine. I need specifics."

"Well, for one, I WILL be better about going to the gym. And I will make my food more often rather than eat out. And I might even start blogging on a regular basis. The key is to take baby steps. I can't be as involved in my hobbies as I used to be. But I'd imagine I could manage to blog about 52 times this year."

"Only 52 times? That's only once a week!"

"Yeah, but I also want to develop another hobby. And if I'm spending all of my time working and at the gym and making dinner there isn't very much time left for blogging and one other thing, now is there?"

"No. I guess not, but it all depends on what that other thing is going to be. What's it gonna be? What's it gonna BEEEEEE?!" Charming Mustard jumped up on my lap and put both hands on my cheeks while he waited to find out. And just like that, my inner resolve crumbled.

"Well, I'm not sure yet. I'd like to do something more exciting. Perhaps YOU can choose a safe not too time-consuming or travel requiring hobby for me to undertake."

A huge grin spread over Mustard's face and he planted a big smooch on my forehead before hopping off my lap and marching around the middle of the room punching the air and singing, "FIGHT CLUB! FIGHT CLUB! FIGHT CLUUUUB!"

Why am I such a softie? A fight club. Geez. Let's hope both Mustard and I get through this year in one piece. That SHOULD be my New Year's resolution.