[dropcap]M[/dropcap]illions of years ago, New Year’s Eve was a rather disappointing thing. Way back then, our filthy ancestors huddled around campfires, sipping swamp water, grunting at teenagers who peed too close to camp. Then, after midnight, they’d dig a hole in the forest, and moan, “Uggh!” Which loosely translates into: “I wish someone would hurry up and invent a fiber supplement.”

And for millennia, that’s how things went.

Well, sometime after the dawn of Metamucil, New Year’s turned into a time for tequila, Jägermeister, and making grand resolutions.

One psychologist explains, “New Year’s resolutions set people up for disappointment. Each year they realize how little they’ve accomplished. In a single word: people feel like miserable failures.”

I wish someone would’ve told that quack that was two words.

Last New Year’s Eve, I sat at the bar. And before the bartender would allow me a beer, she said, “No drinks until you tell me your resolution.”

I said I didn’t have one. So she curtly swatted my knuckles with a ruler. “Don’t you want to accomplish anything, loser?”

Of course I do. But, there’s a lot of pressure on us. We’re all supposed accomplish a lot. We’re expected to keep in shape, be financially savvy, eat organic, reply to texts, trim our nails, exercise, and eat plenty of fiber.

Well, consider Jonah: a ten-year-old who lives in a cardboard box with his daddy in Mobile. When asked what Jonah wanted to accomplish this year, he said, “To find a microwave, so we can eat hot food sometimes.”

I don’t care if the bartender slaps the hell out of my knuckles, I don’t want anything this year.

Except for Jonah to get his microwave.