New Year's resolutions? What resolutions?

As we usher in the new year, Sgt Sophia and I sit on our bed-cum-sofa, watching a movie on our small telly.

“What are your New Year's resolutions?” she asks.

“Resolutions? I never make any, 'cos I never keep them.” Then I hit upon a light bulb moment. “Wait! I resolve to marry you before the end of this year. That’s one I can stick to.”

“You think?”

“I can think of nothing better.”

“Okay, time will tell. You want to hear mine?”

“Yes, please. I hope ‘stop gambling’ is one of them.”

“Do you want to hear my resolutions or do you have them set for me?”

“I’m sorry. Go on, dear. What do you resolve to do this year?”

She squares up to me, a regal smile on her face. “From now on, every time I type a smiley face I will actually laugh-out-loud.”

That gets me cracking. “What kind of a resolution is that?”

“In effect, it’s a vow to try and always tell the truth. I mean, how many times have you typed LOL while you’re actually laughing?”

“What if you’re in a bus? Will you just burst out laughing?”

“If whatever it is happens to be funny enough, yes.”

“I bet you won’t be able to keep it.”

She thrusts out her hand. “Deal. A thousand large every time I do it.”

“Hell no, Sophie! I didn’t mean an actual bet. It was a figure of speech.”

“Okay, then. We’ll see. Only time will tell. Now, your turn.”

“I don’t want to make another resolution I won’t keep.”

“You’re such a spoilsport. Just go along, will you?”

“Alright.” I rack my brain. “How about I’ll stop making New Year's resolutions because I never keep them?”

“It’s a resolution, but it’s lame as hell. Want to hear another one from me? I resolve to wear sexy underwear all the time and not just for doctor’s appointments.”

That throws me for a loop. “You mean you have panties sexier than what I see you wear every day? And why on God’s earth would you wear sexy underwear to the hospital?”

“In case I get a shot, why else? I don’t want a doctor pulling up my skirt and I’m dressed as if it’s laundry day.”

“What if the doctor is a woman?”

“Does it matter? It’s all about perception, hun. You might want to do something about your boxers, too, by the way.”

“Nothing’s the matter with my boxers.”

“You only have six of them, Makini.”

“Yes. One for every day of the week.”

“There are seven days in a week.”

“Sundays don’t count. Let’s rewind for a moment. By sexier underwear, exactly what are we talking about here?”

“Do you want me to tell you or would you prefer that I show you?”

I’ve often heard the adage, “His heart skipped a beat.” Mine doesn’t skip. Uh-uh. It stops beating altogether; a dead lump in my chest.

You see, it’s been three years since Sophia and I have been dating. We’ve done every romantic thing imaginable (at least I think we have, my limited experience with these matters notwithstanding), but not once have we made love.

We’ve come close, sometimes uncomfortably close, but, as they say, no cigar. Or what did you think that resolution to get married was all about? A certificate? What certificate?'

"“Yes,” I say, hardly breathing. “Show me.”

“Before I do it,” she offers another one of her cagey smiles, “you’ll have to make one more resolution.”

“Name it.”

“No sex until we’re married.”

So, I make another resolution I definitely don’t intend to keep.