“So here are my 2012 New Year’s Resolutions,” Walter said.
“Don’t you mean 2013?” Victoria asked.
“I complete more of them if I write them retroactively,” Walter replied. (More)
Midday Matinee is our people watching, people doing and people being feature. Join the Woodland Creatures for an afternoon break.
Welcome back to Tuesday’s Tale, a weekly feature where we collaborate to write a story. Previous Tuesday’s Tales include Doompocageddon! and Some Assembly Required. We follow the basic rules of the “Yes, And” improvisational game – accept everything written so far as part of the story, and add your own paragraph (or so) where the last addition left off – except you needn’t begin your addition with “Yes, and.” I’ll start the story….
“In that case,” Victoria said, “I resolve not to roll my eyes when you wear that Santa sweater with the lighted beard.”
“I threw that away last year,” Walter said. “After I spilled punch on it at the office party.”
Victoria smiled. “Exactly.”
“Ahh,” Walter said, nodding. “I see what you mean. Okay, so I resolve not to gripe about your Tuesday night billiards league.”
Victoria had dropped out of the league for the past year to volunteer for her local Democratic Party. She tapped her chin. “I was thinking of rejoining this year.”
“That’s fine,” Walter replied. “My resolution is retroactive. And completed.”
“But you’re still free to complain if I play pool again this year,” Victoria noted.
Walter put on his most serene smile.
“Happy New Year, mom and dad,” Tammy said, unbraiding her hair as she shuffled into the room. “What are you guys up to?”
“We’re writing our resolutions for last year,” Victoria said. “Your father finds them easier to keep that way.”
“Cool idea,” Tammy said. “Then I resolve not to knock on your bedroom door without listening first to find out if you’re doin’ the nasty.”
Silence hung in the air, save for the sound of coffee spraying from Walter’s lips. Ignoring her fourteen-year-old daughter’s grin, Victoria handed her husband a napkin.
“You did that again?” Sean asked as he shambled in searching for cereal, pop tarts, cold pizza, or perhaps all three. His twelve-year-old belly gurgled like the Queen Mary‘s bilge pump.
“Not since last New Year’s Eve,” Tammy replied. “But these are resolutions for last year. Dad says that’s easier. Kinda like rewind.”
“Hmm,” Sean said. “Then I resolve to kiss Rachel Phillips at the ice skating rink. Except in rewind … she doesn’t slap me.”