MOST THINGS CONSIDERED
Minx McCloud Special Writer
Ah, to make New Year’s resolutions or not to …
I’ve always thought that New Year’s resolutions are basically useless. We should strive to be our best all year round, I told some of my friends at a party one year, but my companions just snickered and threw little cocktail stirrers and olives at me (If I had made resolutions that year, the first one would have been to find a more mature set of friends.).
Since last year’s resolution to lose weight lasted just about an hour past midnight, I decided that this year I would beat the devils that test my willpower by making New Year’s resolutions that are easy to keep.
This year, my first and foremost resolution is to give up watching football. This will be easy because football is boring and pointless.
Actually, there was a time when I enjoyed it in high school, I knew all the players, so it was “personalized.”
With professional football, I have no idea who most of these overpaid young whippersnappers are. The Super Bowl is fun, but with enough beer and snacks, watching a repeat of “Survivor” is fun.
This year, I refuse to sit there as my husband watches seven solid hours of football while dozing off on the couch beneath the comic section of the newspaper. As soon as I hear those annoying sportscasters’ voices this year (John Madden, take note), I’m out of there.
My next resolution is to not wear anything made of fur. This is an easy one, since anyone who ventures out in a fur coat nowadays is in danger of being drenched in ersatz blood by PETA. I also firmly believe that no matter how thin a woman is, she looks like a grizzly bear when she wears fur.
I have seen reed thin women look like they weigh more than 200 pounds when they don a fur coat.
I, weighing in at more than 200 in the first place, look like an igloo covered with hair. I know this because my sister-in-law tried to pass off a ratty old mink coat to me after my mother-in-law died.
In this particular case, the mink looked like a woolly mammoth that had been hit by a semi and sewn back together by a drunken tent-maker.
If I were to wear fur, you might as well draw a target on my back and dangle a “Hunting Season Open” sign over my head. Then I’ll walk through the fields of Hillsborough and wait for a crazed hunter.
In our society, New Year’s resolutions must contain at least one resolution having to do with food. After all, most of us are on a perpetual diet, and those that are not, are usually watching their booze/fat/cholesterol/salt intake. Since all four are problems for me, my diet consists mostly of fat-free cottage cheese slathered on a rice cake.
So my yearly resolution is to diligently watch what I eat. In fact, I may watch it for a long as two minutes or so before I pop it into my mouth. (ba-dump!)
But seriously folks, I am cutting certain foods out of my diet, beginning with fondue. For the uninitiated, fondue is a melted cheese concoction into which you dip chunks of day-old French bread. It was sort of a fad for awhile in the ‘60s and early ‘70s, and it’s starting to make a comeback now. I mean you could put melted cheese on belly-button lint and it would still taste good.
Fondue is delicious, but I only make it once a year on Christmas Day. So I am guaranteed success for 364 days if I give up fondue.
Besides, when you really think about fondue, it’s something you should really only eat with a spouse, family or really good friends. You’ve got this pot of melted cheese and each person has their own fork with which they spear bread to dip into the cheese.
It’s like double-dipping potato chips why I’m surprised Jerry Seinfeld hasn’t tackled the whole fondue issue. It’s pretty disgusting when you get right down to it.
I’ve also decided to give up some other foods, like pickled octopus (those little tentacles with their tiny suckers are gross); quiche (too difficult to make; too expensive to buy); egg nog (another one I can easily give up for 364 days); and, last but not least, artichokes (I simply cannot figure out how the heck to eat them).
When I was a kid, my mom bought a jar of those artichokes in oil and there was a green worm inside, so that rather guarantees success with this one too.
Also related to diet, I promise to use my treadmill regularly. It stands idle in my husband’s exercise room. He exercises regularly and I do not. Sure, every so often, I go in and plug it in so he thinks I’ve been walking.
I hang a damp towel on it so he thinks I actually broke a sweat. Yeah, sure, the only thing that makes me break a sweat lately is a hot flash. I once suggested that we walk together, but he told me all he wants to hear at 6 in the morning is the sound of his own thoughts. I tried not to take offense.
Last but not least, I will give up birthdays. It’s not that I dread them; you’re as young as you feel. It’s just that I am getting older now and no longer see the need to be fanatical about counting them, or even observing them. Oh, wait!
You thought I was talking about my birthday? No, of course not. Queen Minx still expects to have her birthday weekend every year in May.(For those of you who insist on knowing these things, I enjoy books, classic rock CDs and jigsaw puzzles. I collect unicorns and cats, and take a size 9 slipper.)
On the other hand, I’m perfectly willing to overlook my husband’s birthday, since he’s so hard to shop for. Every gift I give him gets the same monotone response, “Oh, that’s nice, hon. Thanks.” It goes into his briefcase and I never see it again. Sigh.
I hope your new year is filled with easily kept resolutions.
Minx McCloud is a freelance writer who writes about life in New Jersey. She can be reached at mccloudnj@aol.com