LaughLines: Let’s Get Real With Our Resolutions

Subscribe to this Blogger's RSS feed
Share

New Year’s resolutions are doomed to failure. No matter how much we plan, no matter how good our intentions, our resolutions never make it to February.

This year, my list is made up of never-fail resolutions I am sure to keep. These are things I’ve always wanted to do, and never have, so here goes nothing – and I mean that sincerely:

I hereby resolve to . . .

  • Eat the last bite/slice/plate of whatever I find in the fridge, before someone else does.
  • Call my mother only after she calls me to complain I never call her.
  • Wear warm flannel granny pajamas to bed, no matter how unattractive, since I’ll get hit on anyway.
  • Wait until spring to shave my legs and summer to shave my underarms.
  • Never read the nutritional information on a candy wrapper.
  • Watch my weight – just watch it, no matter where it’s headed.
  • Prop a new roll of toilet paper on the empty toilet roll dispenser and let someone else figure it out.
  • Bring nothing to a potluck or BYOB.
  • Forget my own birthday — and birth date.
  • Stop at every yard sale, garage sale, and moving sale — and buy things I don’t really need.
  • Have seconds – and thirds occasionally.
  • Not share my popcorn with anyone at the movies.
  • Let someone else volunteer for a change to kill the spider/bug/insert-varmint-name-here.

That ought to do it. A New Year’s resolution list tailor-made for success. Will the guilt kill me by March? It’s possible – but I’m willing to take the risk. Think how much I’ll save on shaving cream alone…

About Cate Drew

I’m on the high side of 40, with three dogs, two teens and one husband, living in a small New England town in a house that’s never quiet. Ever. It’s not that I have a really colorful life – I just tend to write colorfully about it. And there’s plenty of material: marriage to the Man of a Thousand Bad Ideas,.. my mom, who moved Dad’s coffin closer to the street six months after he died so she could visit his grave as a kind of drive-up window…our dog posse…our kids…lots of siblings and in-laws, former co-workers, old boyfriends -- they’re all here. Toss in 14 years of Catholic school and you’ve got a lot of guilt, too. Which reminds me: forget “high side of 40.” I’m 51, damnit.

Articles