Sick of New Year’s resolutions
“Well, what’s it going to be for New Year’s this year?” I asked husband-head curiously.”The same thing we always do,” he replied simply. “Stay home – since neither one of us can make it until midnight.”Which is true. Every year we end up watching the big ball drop in New York on television at 10 p.m. our time, toast each other and go to bed. I can’t remember the last time we’ve seen the stroke of midnight.But that wasn’t what I was talking about.I was referring to what our new year resolutions were going to be.”I know for sure what mine is,” husband-head said immediately. “I’m doing away with chicken pot pie.”Not that chicken pot pie, in itself, is a bad thing. But husband-head had recently become violently ill for a few days and blames it on a homemade chicken pot pie I had made for dinner the night before.Two days later and ten pounds lighter, husband-head insisted that I had put him on the “E. Coli” diet.”You tried to POISON me!” he accused, when he finally started feeling human again. “You tried to OFF me with a chicken pot pie.”It didn’t matter how many times I pointed out that I had eaten the same thing and hadn’t gotten sick, so that couldn’t be it.Still, the mere mention of the words “chicken pot pie” still makes him turn green.”Don’t even SAY that!” husband-head screamed when I spoke about the meal, putting his hands over his ears.At one point, I wondered if he was going to live on Pepto-Bismal and Tums for the rest of his life. “I’m only eating canned or dried food from now on,” he insisted for a week afterwards as he eyeballed the fridge in fear.So chicken pot pie was definitely on his list of resolutions.”What about you?” husband-head asked. I pondered it for a moment.”I think I’m going to give up deep fried Twinkies,” I announced.”But you’ve never even HAD a deep fried Twinkie, which, by the way, is totally disgusting,” husband-head said.”I know,” I agreed. “That’s why it’ll be an easy resolution to keep.”Why set yourself up for failure?”Remember the year you tried to give up Mountain Dew?” I reminded husband-head. “That certainly didn’t last very long.””Yeah, well remember when you were going to stop being the grocery store’s best customer?” he retorted. “From the look of the checkbook and the refrigerator, that still hasn’t happened, either.”There are certain things that husband-head and I don’t even attempt to put on our resolution list.That would include things such as beer, wine, football and the Golden Girls.”I have an idea,” husband-head suddenly suggested. “Why don’t you resolve to actually get DRESSED a couple times a week? Just because you work at home, doesn’t mean you have to live in sweat pants and pajamas.”The saddest part being that I continue to shop online and have a closet full of clothes that still have the tags hanging on them.”What about the pets?” I said, trying to change the subject. “Don’t they need to make resolutions as well?”Husband-head looked over at our two goofy Labs and the mean cat.”I think the boys should resolve to only having 10 treats a day instead of the 25 they get for just walking in or out of the door,” he said firmly. “They’re beginning to look like small ponies instead of domesticated dogs.””What about the cat?” I asked. “She needs a resolution, too.”Although truthfully, I wasn’t sure how we would enforce it since the cat seems to do whatever she pleases, regardless.”The cat will resolve not to jump out at people and assault them,” husband-head decided. “And she will not decide to scratch you while you’re in the middle of petting her.”I looked over the list for our group and then tore it up.”I’m sick of new year resolutions,” I said. “I resolve we just have a good time.”Heidi Rice is a staff reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. Visit her Web site at http://www.heidirice.com.
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