Day late, dollar short

My New Years? Well hello there, thanks for asking.

Okay, so we missed the mountain hike and sledding return because of car rental nonsense, too boring to discuss. We (T-Roz, Nicole, Jesse) showed up in Thomaston, Maine at about 3:30 in the afternoon. Nicole and Roz managed to polish off a bottle of wine in about a half-hour while I rested my weary head. I got up and found them in ah, robust spirits.

T-Rozzer and Nicole yuk it up next to our comely Chevy Cobalt at the New Hampshire Welcome Center.
I sat rubbing my hands by the woodstove like the Old Prospector (my favorite stereotype) until my pops and his wifey showed up at quarter of six. Before you knew it, champagne was uncorked, guests were arriving and everything was all a-bustle. The crowd was a mix of world-weary liberal cynics and old-time Mainers, salty enough to give the Old Prospector a run for his money. My merry trio were the only folks under 45 in the house.

After whiskey, lasagna and after-dinner drinks, flash forward to the Yanqui Swap. Learning from the last Swap, I pulled a little mischief. Instead of having my crutches sit there for the evening, unappealing and unclaimed, I wrote on a scrap of paper-

Jesse's present was too big to wrap. If you would like it, he will get it from the car. :)
(the smiley face was horizontal, not vertical. work with me)

Pretty crafty, eh? I knew the mysterious gift that was too big to wrap would be the first to go. And wouldn't ya know it, an old Mainer named Gary snatched it up on the first pick. When I brought him the crutches (this time with a silky off-white ribbon,) his leathery careworn face creased with confusion. But then he told a story:

"Lo about 15 years ago, I was hiking the Appalachian Trail. At the peak of a hill, in the middle of nowhere, I saw a pair of crutches sitting by the side of the trail, abandoned and alone. I've thought about those crutches many times, wondering why they were there and if they were supposed to bear some meaning for me."

It was too much of a coincidence for the man. Gary, who I found out is a wealthy retired coal baron, decided he was meant to own crutches. Even though he had the option to trade them for any gift in the house (pooping reindeer, pirate flag, Santa apron, etc.,) he chose to stick it out and accept his Fate. I love you, salty Gary.

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful. The old folks drank heavy and crashed early. By midnight, Nicole was drowsing in my lap while I watched the horrible spectacle of Dick Clark's re-animated cadaver, attempting to re-enter the world of the living. And if you think I'm being cruel, you should've heard my dad's imitations of the speech-slurring all through New Year's Day. The apple don't fall too far, as they say.

The next day, we cut our visit short to visit the outlet stores in Freeport. I played the part of the doting male companion who was willing to let the ladies have their little shopping expedition. But in a temporary case of outlet insanity, I ended up buying not one, not two, not five, but six pairs of friggin' pants! I kid you not, Nicole actually told me I couldn't try on more clothes, it was time to go.

Tail between legs, carrying my enormous shopping bags to the car, I felt sheepish, like Cathy (comic strip character) after her mother chides her for excessive shopping.

Ah well, I'm over it now. Thing is, pants look good.