If I’d known the U.S. Census Bureau was counting heads in Maine during Christmas week, I never would have gone off to spend the holidays out of state. Unfortunately, by the time I discovered my mistake, the new figures had already been announced.

They weren’t pretty.

You’d think people in New Hampshire would be among the happiest folks in the United States of America. Unspoiled wilderness. No statewide taxes. The lowest possible prices on liquor.

What more could anyone ask for?

Plenty, as it turns out.

According to a new study conducted by researchers for the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention,

A woman in Lewiston needed a bedbug.

It didn’t have to be a particularly impressive bedbug, displaying an exceptional talent for bloodletting or an especially attractive exoskeleton.

In fact, it didn’t even have to be alive.

It’s not as if Misti Oliveira wanted the thing for a pet or something. Which is good, because bedbugs make lousy pets. They’re all but impossible to train, which means they jump on guests and suck their blood.

Contrary to popular opinion, I have nothing against water.

This naturally occurring substance, in both its solid and liquid forms, is essential for making a decent highball. It’s also useful for extinguishing inadvertent fires. And I’m certain the season on delicious Maine shrimp would be greatly curtailed without an ocean full of it.

So, put me down as cheerfully admitting to carrying the water for, um, water.

Politicians lie. When they do, people shrug. It’s expected.

Economists get it wrong. People shrug again. Normal folks don’t believe those silly predictions in the first place.

Car dealers. Lawyers. TV pitchmen. Celebrities accused of sexual impropriety involving golf clubs. Shrug. Shrug. Shrug. And shrug again. Only a fool would take anything they said seriously.

I know many of you consider me to be the hyper-critical type, always censuring others as if I were somehow faultless. But I have to confess that I’m a long way from perfection, and nothing illustrates my deficiencies more clearly than my appearance. To put it as politely as possible:

I’m a disgusting slob.

The Saco Drive-In on Route 1 opened for business in 1938. That was shortly after the invention of making out. Probably not a coincidence. Ever since then, the Saco has provided generations of Mainers with a safe and inexpensive place to grope each other in the dark.

I’ve never been much of a gambler, not because I have moral objections to the practice, but because it seems like a lot of work. You have to cut the deck. You have to toss the dice. You have to place your chips on the numbers.

If I wanted to do chores, I could stay home and clean the house.

As everyone knows, the town of York is in York County. The town of Cumberland is in Cumberland County. The town of Oxford is in Oxford County. And I’m sure the town of Sagadahoc would be in Sagadahoc County if such a town existed.

If I seem a little woozy this week — OK, a little more woozy than usual — it’s not my faushlt … er, fault. Y’see, I may have inadvertently ingested alcohol lurking in seemingly healthful and harmless products, such as orange juice. Or bread. Or the air.

Fortunately, state officials are on the case and will soon be arresting anyone who attempts to sell any of these intoxicating items to minors. As for me (hic), I’m kinda enjoying myself.