To quote my sweet little old granny, I have “fallen to hell in a hand basket” since December 25^th. I have been wearing my Roots sweatpants for three consecutive days.  I no longer even entertain the pretense that I might eat a non-candied fruit or a vegetable NOT deep-fried and/or dipped in ranch dressing. There are candy wrappers on my bedside night stand and I’m dropping Baileys in my morning coffee (don’t judge me!). December 18^th was the last day I walked further than the distance from my front door to my car. My belly button now looks up at me when I sit and my muffin top has morphed into a full-sized Bundt cake. The cellulite dimples on my ass resemble a dot-to-dot activity page from a kid’s colouring book and I’m pretty sure that if I could reach them with a pen, they could be joined into the image of Santa’s village, complete with sleigh and reindeer.

During the past few days, I have read nothing but Lena Dunham’s Not That Kind of Girl and a slew of trashy magazines pulled from Christmas stockings. As a result, my vocabulary has expanded to include over a dozen new ways to say ‘vagina’ and I have a newfound understanding of the mating rituals of boy-band members, Family Channel stars, and the Kardashians. Sadly, I no longer know what’s going on in Syria (although who really does?), why oil prices are dropping, or what my voting inclinations might be in the next federal election. Oh well…

It’s Post-Christmas; a surreal netherland vaguely linking the manic shopping and visiting and partying madness of December 1-25 with the disciplined repenting of January. Come New Year I will strap myself to a stair climber and press pause only to eat carrot sticks and dry quinoa. While scaling those endless steps to lean perfection, I will make a plan to pay off my VISA and my line of credit and catch up on 20+ years of unused RRSP contribution limits. 2015 will be the year when I finally clean out the basement rec room… and my bedroom closet… and the backyard shed! I will be better, faster, stronger than ever before!!! But that’s still a few days from now…

Perhaps I should start with baby steps; tiny progressive movements towards adult behaviour and appropriate hygiene.  I will focus on an attainable goal that doesn’t require too much mental or physical exertion… I will shave my legs!  Yes.  This seems like a very good idea.  After all, there are still sort-of-social things happening.  While I cannot imagine ever again donning pantyhose, history tells me that such things sometimes occur on New Year’s Eve.  I should make a pre-emptive move and mow down the kneecap-to-ankle forest before it becomes a situation requiring input from professionals!  I will begin with a soak in the tub…

Nothing like soaking in the tub with a nice glass of wine… and another selection from the trashy magazine mountain under the Christmas tree.   I think I will skip the whole leg-shaving thing in favour of a bit more wine (educational note to readers: always bring the bottle into the bathroom!).  After all, I’m putting on my Christmas jammies when I get out of the tub, so what’s the point really?