OK, so we were gonna go out and act up, eat sushi at Jun, washed down with sake and Kirin, or maybe hit The Blue Star or Nosh, surf the culinary wave of whatever they had going on for $55 a person — and then I said fuck it, I don’t wanna.

Instead, I put a pot of beans on to simmer, sent Herself off in search of additional groceries, dashed downtown to Old Town Bike Shop to drop off a mixed case of Bristol beer in partial repayment for their tolerance and generosity, then roared back home to assemble some green chile chicken enchiladas, a pot of Mexican rice and some pico de gallo to go with the blue corn chips.

Around 6 I cracked bottles of red, white and rosé for me, Herself and a friend, who contributed a delicious butternut-squash soup as an appetizer, which was a good thing as I was running about an hour behind schedule, dinner-wise, which should surprise no one who has ever reserved a table at Chez Dog.

During and after dinner we discussed politics, illness, death, religion, Monty Python, higher education, Firesign Theatre, philosophy, cats, dogs, procreation and the perils thereof, hot springs and the future of the Republic.

Whew.

With dinner over and the friend gone home, I treated myself to a nightcap while Herself padded downstairs to whistle up the voodoo that makes her look 29 while I struggle to maintain a youthful 92. Neither of us made it to midnight. Not with our eyes open, anyway.

And now here it is 2010. The beverage of the day is coffee and I have plans to crank out a mess of Brooklyn-style Hoppin’ John for good luck and prosperity in the new year. Herself and I wish you plenty of both.