The good news is, it’s January 3 and I find my resolve is stronger than ever. Why, only this very morning, I resolved to have a bagel instead of oatmeal for breakfast, so I shed my feathery negligee (kidding–there are no feathers), donned a baseball cap, dungarees and hoodie, and drove to the bagel shop, where I accidentally ordered 12 instead of one and received a baker’s dozen because sometimes there’s God so quickly. And yeah, I just quoted Streetcar AND used the word “dungarees” because I refuse to be part of the dumbing down of society. K? K. I’m going to be peppering my posts with words like “farthingale,” “portmanteau,” and “davenport,” so grab your dictionaries and hold on to your chapeaux, mofos.
Now, where was I before I got all archaic and sanctimonious? Oh yeah, my resolve, or rather, my resolutions, or lack there of. The truth is, my doctor–let’s call him Dr. Killjoy–made my resolutions for me, right after my physical in November, when he forced me quit every damn thing I cherish except for sarcasm and run-on sentences (which I’m sure are next on his evil list), leaving me with little to give up as one year ended and another began. So I simply resolved to eat better. How’s it going, you ask? Well, so far, so good, because I can guaran–damn-tee you’ve never had a better bagel than that one I had for breakfast. #ontrack
Categories: Extra Dry Blog