A Simple New Year's Resolution (Smack!)

The Great Dancenik is taking stock as the year ends. The Great Plotnik thinks he should too. He just got home from dropping The Great BZWZ at the airport for her trip back to the Big Shmapple, something he never likes doing, and from Martha Brothers where he went to buy French Roast and to give The Grand Dog his morning constitutional, something they both love. Then he came home and found his glasses.

Let's backtrack. WARNING: YOUNG PEOPLE MAY FIND WHAT FOLLOWS REALLY FRIGHTENING!



Yesterday, The Great Plotnik needed to take a nap. BZWZ and Ducknik were already taking naps, so the two normal nap spots were accounted for. Plottie walked upstairs to the parlor and noted -- hey! The sofa! I think I'll just lie down here!

There is a little table next to the sofa.



Plotnik yawned, took off his glasses and set them on top of the table.



There was, however, a little silver tray next to the pillow on the sofa and so, sleepy as a Great Religious Leader can understandably be, he reached back and placed the silver tray on top of the table AND the glasses.



There was a little box on the floor so he tossed that on top of the tray too.



Last night, the Plotniks wanted to go to Ti-Couz for crepes so Plotnik started looking for his glasses. THREE HOURS later he still hadn't found them. He went through all the SKANKY garbage, piece by piece. In the dark with a flashlight, he and Duck retraced each step of Mischief's morning walk up Harry Street. Plottie went through every piece of clothing, every pocket, looked under every chair and in every sofa cushion. He took everything out of every cabinet. Three people scoured the house until there was nowhere left to look.

They gave up. Ducknik located Plotnik's old, goofy, decrepit, bozo glasses, the ones he used to wear that weigh so much they leave divots on both sides of his nose, and he put them on and off they went to eat Breton crepes with 25,000 other Saint Plotnikians.



This morning he was in the parlor and stared at that table. He had stared at that f!*!*! table, with the f!*!*! tray and the f!*!*! box on the f!*!*! tray, a minimum of ten times yesterday. He thought: Hah, no way. Even I couldn't be that much of a schmuck. But he picked up the silver tray. There they were.

So let us return to taking stock. It's been a great year. Duckie and Plottie seem to be in decent health (spit over the shoulder to ward off demons, PFAHHH!). The kids are doing fascinating things, Mummy P still has plenty of mileage left (PFAHHH!), Baby I has become Toddler Belly and the whole family seems well. The Plotniks could always use closer friends, but it is dawning on Plottie that this must be either the human condition, or his fault. He chooses to blame it on the human condition.

So, for next year only one simple resolution: NO MORE LEAVING THE
F!*!*! GLASSES ON THE TABLE UNDER THE TRAY AND THE BOX! That's not too much to ask, is it?

And the happiest, most creative and poetic 2008 for all of Plottie's readers and friends. A big kiss from Plotnik. (SMACK!)