I’ve decided that self-improvement is overrated. This year instead of vowing to be better and then letting myself down two weeks later, I’m taking a different approach. I’m making anti-resolutions. That way if I succeed I’m successful, and if I fail I’m successful, too.
I resolve to gain weight.
This should be a fun one. Who wants to be skinny anyway? Just think of all the new shopping I’ll get to do when I can no longer zip my jeans—to say nothing of the joy of Brie and chocolate. And once I gain all that weight, I’m going to start a foundation similar to Locks of Love, except instead of donating hair to cancer patients, we’ll get lipo-sucked and donate the results to runway models.
I resolve to stop working out.
It might be difficult to find the time to not exercise, but a little determination goes a long way. Marathons of the Real Housewives on Bravo will help. And hello—double bonus, no workout clothes means less laundry! Who needs extra energy and long life?
I resolve to start smoking.
So many people smoke, I’m starting to wonder what I’m missing. Seriously, if it’s so hard to quit it must be pretty good, right? However, I’ve heard smoking helps keep the weight off so this could make my resolution to gain weight more difficult. I’m willing to take the chance. Besides, considering the state of my retirement account, a shorter life expectancy makes sense.
I resolve to increase my alcohol intake.
Next year at my annual physical I’d like to move my answer from the 1–3 drinks per week to the 5–8 category. It’s a realistic goal. Combined with the weight gain, lack of exercise, and smoking, this resolution has the potential to make a real impression on my overall health—and my physician.
I resolve to mess up the garage.
I’ve been trying to organize our garage for five years. (By organize I mean I’ve been trying to get my husband to pick up his stuff and get rid of the junk he calls “tools.”) At this point I’m ready to give it up to the family of squirrels that have taken to eating the dog food the children drop on the floor.
I resolve to spend less quality time with the family.
Do you ever get the feeling your family takes you for granted? I do, and I think a little extended absence from Mama is what they need to make their hearts grow fonder. I’m thinking of a solo tour of Europe.
I resolve to decrease my charitable contributions.
Aren’t I helping the world enough by spending money on my $4 cups of coffee and my 38 pairs of black shoes? All those unfortunate people don’t need the money like I do—Retrinal doesn’t grow on trees, you know.
I resolve to decrease my vocabulary.
Some of the words floating around my brain have very little purpose in my everyday life and frankly I need to free up some capacity to stay on top of Facebook updates. Autumn for example—who needs it? Fall is shorter and more descriptive. Autumn, you’re dead to me.
I resolve to make less money.
This one needs some clarification. Let’s be clear that I don’t want to have less money or spend less money, I just don’t want to be the person who earns it.
That’s my plan for the new year. Come December I’ll either be wildly successful or dead. At any rate, at least I’ll have something to give up in 2014.
Lela Davidson is the author of Blacklisted from the PTA, a collection of irreverent essays about motherhood and the modern family. She blogs about marriage, motherhood, and life-after-40 on www.afterthebubbly.com.
