Resolutions are for people with goals, a plan and a purpose in life. Like the kid in the front row in third grade who always raised his hand because he knew the answer, and Mrs. Marsupial with her bride of Frankenstein mop would crack a scary smile and all the brats in the back would pretend to gag (not me of course — I never got in trouble).

Resolutions are for the mature, the type of humanoids who are always on time and know how much money is in their checking accounts, and it’s not because the bank just sent a “you’re going to jail you bum” message. They make to-do lists and do things.

My to-do list plan is to scribble a list with such poor penmanship that an hour later I will have no idea what any of the jobs and goals could possibly be. The only part of a to-do list that is important is making the list and bragging that you did it.

I am sure the little dweeb in the front row, who is now a multigagillionaire with lots of dark socks, makes a New Year’s to-do resolution list at 6:35 a.m. Jan. 1 – a legible one.

Every year I make a New Year’s resolution to never make resolutions. R words like resolution, responsibility and reality make me limp.

This year my plan is on New Year’s Day to make our traditional stuffed mushrooms, Swedish meatballs with homemade pasta, three-cheese bread, brown-butter and roasted garlic asparagus and a fudge swirl trifle dessert. I will watch “The Searchers”, a football game, go to sleep for two hours, wake up and it will be March.

That Einstein was good at math.

Since it is going to be 2016, I decided for no logical reason to toss out my resolution to make no resolution and make some resolutions.

Here are a some of my top to-dos or not to dos.

I am going to be less cheery and more mature. No more Mr. Sunshine with intoxicated dancing cows singing, “My Little Buckaroo.”

I am going to be more honest with myself and others about my hair, and their apparent hair. I realize I have been blessed with a fleecy, follicular noggin and I won’t make fun of the apparent hair wanna-be-like-me(s) who spray hirsute reincarnation on their shiny heads.

I can keep this resolution. Here is an example: “Sure that green spray will work. Don’t worry about the burning and skin peeling. Soon you will look just like me.”

When I hear a political leader use the term, “We’re just going to move forward,” I resolve not to become a third grader and fall down on the floor giggling. I promise to take those statements as seriously as I do the sultry voice whispering from the grocery store check-out machine, “Welcome valued customer.”

I resolve to be nicer to Ms. Vegan and I will try to refrain from calling her Ms. Vegan. I will stipulate Ms. Vegan knows the name of two cows, which is material to the matter of a double bacon-cheese burger, despite the overriding fact Ms. Vegan does not know the name of Old McDonald’s piggies, E-I-E-I-Oooo (and Ms. Vegan is the finest humor writer an editor could hope for).

Now for a late breaking special report.

I found some two pocket stripy shirts Sunday, which I am certain is an omen similar to a bucket of rocks falling out of the sky whacking me on the brainpan. Allow me to leak a little secret; I won’t be the only one wearing stripy two pockets in 2016. It’s going to be a fashion trend. Let’s try to keep a lid on the fad excitement for now.

When New Year’s Day arrives let’s raise our glasses and toast the town with a few guzzles of out-of-date buttermilk. That will lift the fun ball as high as it goes.

Happy New Year to all.