By Emily Schilling

Coming up with resolutions may be the customary way (besides champagne, noisemakers and kisses) to ring in the new year. But, inspired by a Chinese takeout dinner over the holidays, I’ve decided a new beginning-of-the-year tradition is in order. So, instead of making promises to myself that I’ll likely break by month’s end, I decided it would be more fun to crack open some fortune cookies and get a sneak peek of what 2017 holds in store.

The post-meal fortune revelation is a highlight of any Chinese meal — even though I consider most of the fortunes more confusing than Confucius. But, some of these paper prognostications are either surprisingly profound or so ridiculous you wonder how they made it into the cookie. It’s those gems that make tearing that plastic wrapper so worth it.

“How much deeper would the ocean be without sponges?” one cookie invites you to ponder.

“A closed mouth gathers no feet” reminds you to think before speaking.

Some of the most disturbing fortunes are the most succinct. Imagine discovering “That wasn’t chicken” after devouring a takeout box of Moo Goo Gai Pan — or receiving the single-word message “Run.” From what?!

One time, when my cookie was devoid of its paper strip, I fretted over this dark omen. Was I facing a fortune-less life? Didn’t I, at least, deserve to know what my lucky numbers were?

As luck would have it, when I finished my most recent Moo Shu Pork meal and cracked open my cookie, a new year’s fortune did await me: “An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly.” Wow! Extraterrestrials will be landing in Indiana this year? What a remarkable prediction — and not only that, a possible exclusive story for Electric Consumer! You heard it here first!

Well, fortune cookies may not be reliable information sources, but I still liken them to life: there’s good days and bad, days of clarity, days when things don’t make sense — and days when you get told like it is. Like this: “I cannot help you, for I’m just a cookie.” There you have it. I guess that’s how the fortune cookie crumbles.

EMILY SCHILLING is editor of Electric Consumer