27

This is the year. 27 is my lucky number. Why 27? I trace it back to that monumental event where all lucky numbers are born. — soccer jerseys.

In my case, the last soccer jersey. The one no one else wanted. That is, until the star player forgot hers on a bus trip and borrowed mine for the day, which was also the same day I discovered a bench-warmer could get demoted.

But there will be no demotions here in my 27th earth year. (Well, it’s actually my 28th year if we count that crucial year when I learned about the world by slobbering on everything.)

Great things are going to happen this year. Big changes. New growth. A better me.

For starters, I’m planning on digging about 17 holes, taking 52 trips to the library, and I already tried brussel sprouts, so we are well on our way.

Here’s to goals of the non-soccer kind. (Though, if anyone wants to do that too, I’ll bring the juice boxes.)