UNDERSTANDING NEW YEAR'S EVE

"You're going to Houston to watch them play?"
Yes, Kim -- I'd go see them play anywhere if I could. I'd watch them play anything. I'd pay good money to hear them do Christian waltzes -- it doesn't matter -- they're that important of a band to me -- so I will not be going skiing in Colorado.
Have fun.
Now I could understand her frustration -- that's not saying much -- most anything is understandable -- there are only eight things that I don't understand:
Lettuce
Marriage
High-maintenance dogs
Belly-putters
Those swiss-cheese shoes
Lane Kiffen
Marijuana
Wrist watches
That's about it -- so I can understand Kim. And eventually she'll have to accept my Houston plans, and she will come to understand me -- the way that little 7-year-old kid learned to understand that foul ball that almost hit us at the baseball game last week: He asked me to see it, and he held it, and he looked at it, closely -- turning it around and around -- and whatever he discovered, he came to understand at least one thing: It wasn't his.
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