January 6th is the day of failure. I am a half-empty kind of gal, and January 6th is an annual holiday of failure for me, I have grown to own it and love it. You see, my New Year’s resolutions have a six day life-span and it goes something like this:
Day 1: I am cutting out sugar and white flour as my New Year’s resolution!! Look at me!! I am friggin awesome and so disciplined. (Throws all sugar and white flour products into trash can) Mildly disturbed to find out even ketchup has sugar in it.
Day 2: Feeling a bit cranky, and bouncing off the wall because of increase in caffeine intake. Stared at half eaten brownie in the trash can like a black bear looks at a fat, sweating hiker.
Day 3: Not feeling guilty at all about screaming into the Starbuck’s drive-thru window. I said Stevia, not Stevie Nicks damnit! Do I look like I want a 70s rocker in my latte??
Day 4: I have the shakes and would saw off my left arm for some Skittles.
Day 5: Looking at myself in the mirror, feeling somewhat svelte. I think I have lost an inch in my chins. The waitress brings me a croissant with my garden salad. I have restraint…literally, my friend has me in a snot-lock as the waiter takes it away. I start to weep, the salt from my tears makes me want sugar…have always enjoyed the combination of sweet and savory.
Day 6: I should be full by the gi-normous rationalization I just swallowed…along with the donut. I am a failure on a massive scale….no, that’s just my massive weight on this scale. Today is annual failure day and I vow to celebrate my achievement with a toast….and some grape jelly.
There’s always next year.