...do I need a pedicure?
I once resolved never to make a New Year's resolution. (Yeah, I know - irony and juxtapostion make strange bedpillows.) However, this past year was pretty awful, with terrible things happening all over the world - Tom Cruise became a daddy, George Clooney stood me up again, the Yankees got ripped off in the playoffs... So I figured - maybe I could somehow make 2007 a little better, a little nicer. Think global, act local, all that yadda stuff. With a bit extra junk in the trunk , I figured I'd do what I could to make my little part of the world pretty. I'm joining the cattle call known as the January Starvation & Fitness Festival of Lites and Weight-loss Infomercials. Diet time. Happy, happy, me.
Coming off weeks of stringent partying, I'm determined to run, crunch, and pump my flab away. Unfortunately, after gorging myself silly in traditional holiday fashion, I'm afraid the only thing that vicious, torrid exercise is will do for me is give my stretch marks whiplash.
They (whoever 'they' are) say to never go on a diet alone, so I insisted that my overstuffed closet and bulging credit card balance join me. After all, they had gotten me into this mess, or at least gotten into it with me. Plus, if this worked out, I'd fit into my old skinny clothes, throw out my 'fat' clothes, and quit buying new 'fat' clothes. So that's like killing 7 birds with one candy bar. Or something.
Here's the only caveat - this diet thing makes me cranky. I certainly don't mind being cranky, but it is apparently a HUGE issue with other people. Like they've never suffered through a diet before. Come to think of it, some of them could really afford to relax their grip on the feed bag once in a while. I mean, talk about taking a walk on the wide side.
By the way, I'm not exactly what you might call fat, just emotionally tubby, which is worse, because I feel like I'm fat, but I'm not, so nobody empathizes with me. We're talking about five pounds, tops. Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder, right guys? Hopefully a lite beer.
Since I've started my diet, ok, since I've started talking about starting my diet, the rest of the world just doesn't understand how hard it can be for me to be me. Waddle a mile in my Uggs, ok? But noooo, they squawk at me to quit complaining, that I look gorgeous already, that they would love to be me....it's enough to make me sick, which would be ok if I were into that binge/purge thing, but that's as passe as Britney's virginity.
Anyway, I'm not sure if it's really the diet making me cranky, or just everyone pissing me off. Either way, it's a fine how-de-doo lightyear away from merry, jolly December. And it's certainly not my fault. It's not, it's not, it's not.
Sigh...where's the chocolate?
3 comments:
You spoke my thoughts Annie. Granted, I'm only beginning to plan, to start thinking about the January Starvation and sweating thing, but still.....it's making me cranky just thinking about it.
"I wonder...do I need a pedicure?"
No, but your lawn is nicely manicured.
Go for the pedicure. It does nothing for the five pounds, but you'll care less about it.
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