Once is funny. More than once is still funny, but starts to look oddly deliberate. Thus, my main goal for the first day of 2011 was to not make a New Year’s tradition of getting myself locked outside naked.
In preparation for this challenge, I made sure the laundry was stocked with a clean, dry shirt and a number of towels. Words were spoken with my beloved co-habitant regarding appropriate house-departure procedures. I sourced shorts with pockets for my keys. I left the bathroom window open.
Waking, as usual, at a geriatric New Year’s hour – that is, the time usually reserved for actually going to bed after New Year’s Eve – I resisted all urges to make breakfast and deferred doing any laundry until I could be assured that no-one was home to lock me out. Instead I dressed in my key-holder shorts and a t-shirt, and set out on a merry morning adventure to walk the hound.
While perambulating with the Yellow Dog of Happiness, I encountered many elderly people also walking their dogs. All other folk under the age of sixty-five were either at work already, or snoring, or still on their way to bed, drunk as skunks and reeking of fireworks.
Several of the elderly citizens made conversation with me as we enjoyed the last vestiges of sunrise over the river. Had I been less clothed, I doubt I would have had the pleasure of such conversation.
When I got home, I brought the rabbit inside, made a coffee, and wrote the world’s second-most boring blog post.
I managed to go the whole day without getting locked outside in the nuddy.
However, I am so thoroughly bored with myself that I think I am changing my mind a little about the whole tradition thing.
Maybe just every second year…