Clearly I know too many self-improvement types, because here I am, fairly well BULLIED into making some new year’s resolutions.
Expect daily progress reports. It’s shaping up to be that fun of a year.
This year I will go back to work full-time, as long as Starbucks is still hiring people to pose as customers (free pound of coffee with every flush of a stranger’s pee!).
This year I will try to make some new mom friends here in the neighbourhood — learn their names and birthdays, where they grew up, how they like their coffee, social insurance numbers, etc. Then I’ll offer them a free photo session (two wallet-sized black-and-white photos, shot with a neutral facial expression). Oh, and I’ll need their addresses, too, so I know where to send the postcards.
This year I will save some money and wax my own tadpole.
This year I will embrace change. I will also gently caress paper money and open-mouth kiss gift cards.
This year I will give up on trying to lose weight, and just accept that I can be beautiful at any size of Cetacea.
This year I will suck the marrow as the internet’s favourite perkstronaut Kelle Hampton calls it. Just kidding. If I wanted to make blood a part of my diet I’d just make some Diva Cupcakes! A ha-ha-ha! Eww …
This year I will learn to drive a stick shift, so I can make both my kids throw up in the car at the very same time.
This year I will give more of myself. You are all getting actual hairshirts next Christmas. Oh, shut up, grey goes with everything.
In all seriousness? Resolve is a stain remover, end of story.
And from this week’s writing challenge, some folks whose resolutions are, shall we say, a bit more meteoric than my own.