So, my friends, it’s the time of year when lots of us make resolutions, and I’m no exception. However, I’ve reached the age of wisdom, which means I now only make promises to myself that I think I can actually keep.
So, here they are:
I will get on the bathroom scale every morning, no matter how much I’m forced to curse at the result.
I will stop expecting “Star Wars” movies to be entertaining.
I will keep doing things that are inappropriate for women my age, though I draw the line at going to Coachella. I remember one newscaster, forgive me for forgetting your name, suggesting that people without tickets could just take off their bras, smear dust all over themselves and pee in their backyards and have the whole experience for free. I do that every day anyway, so I’m set.
I will faithfully walk at least 87 steps a day – the exact distance from my desk to the refrigerator. (Fitbit, anyone?)
I will stop buying things with my credit card on Amazon just because I get free Prime shipping.
I will think seriously about going to the gym. Every day. Then, I will actually go. At least, most of the time.
I will clean the pile of clutter off the breakfast bar, so at least we have one tidy space to eat. The dining room table is hopeless, as the top hasn’t been sighted for years under the piles of paperwork and magazines, but I still have hope for the breakfast bar.
I will not meet with any emissaries from Russia, even if they tempt me with those cute nesting wooden dolls.
When I drive past the lair of the devil, also known as the See’s Candy store, I won’t slam on my brakes and look in the window, requiring the person behind me to also slam on his brakes.
At their request, I will quit referring to my young adult children as “you kids,” unless they are actual goats, which sometimes seems the case.
When I’m in the hot tub at my gym, and an elderly man wearing bathing trunks and a baseball cap gets in next to me and starts talking loudly on his mobile phone, using the speaker, I will continue to point out to him that it’s annoying but when he starts telling me to shut up, I won’t get in an argument with him. I’ll just remind myself I got in there to relax, and he’ll never let me have the last word anyway.
At least once this year, I will remember to bring earplugs to rock concerts, keeping in mind that I lost much of my hearing sitting in the fourth row of the Rolling Stones Steel Wheels tour when they played the L.A. Coliseum.
I will give up on my dream of being a contestant on “Survivor,” realizing I would undoubtedly be the one who stubbed her toe the first day and needed a medical evacuation.
I will color my hair more often, before I get that thick line of gray roots that reminds me I’m actually way older than I feel.
I will bring my own healthy snacks to office meetings, so I don’t devour entire plates of home-baked goodies that my fabulous chef colleagues bring in just to torture me.
In an effort to avoid early onset dementia, I will stop trying to initiate conversations with my young adult children, especially when they involve slang expressions that I can’t fathom. (OK, wait. So, what used to be cool and was then fierce is now fire?)
Along the same vein, whenever my teenage daughter says something is “Gucci,” I will stop looking around for a leather handbag.
I will refuse any attempts by the Trump Administration to recruit me to be ambassador to England. They call their fries “chips” and put vinegar on them. It’s just wrong.
I won’t laugh hysterically any time someone suggests that, now that my kids are grown, I might meet a man and get married.
I won’t log into the website for my insurance company, create a new log-in, and then forget my user name and password before I can write it down.
I will stop cursing at idiots who cut me off in traffic, lest they roll down their windows and aim a pistol at me. Unless it’s a black BMW. Then, seriously, you just gotta.
So, friends, that’s my list. Last year, I added that I wanted to “stay scared.” Because if you’re scared, you’re pushing your boundaries and going to new places.
So, happy new year, and I hope it’s a scary one for you, too.