I do not make New Years resolutions. I am opposed to them for a variety of reasons. Although I do sort of let a few things roll around in my head.
Making dinner for myself, at home, like always. Ground beef. Not a cured meat.
Last year my big resolution “thought” was to book myself a restaurant reservation for one night every month of the year at 12 different really good restaurants. I was going to be a woman about town, with a year’s worth of dinner dates all booked up and could say things like “I’ve been there, they have a lovely foie gras.” or “I’m sorry I can’t go to the opening of the new Shoe Barn with you, I have a prior engagement.”
I envisioned the new me, my heels sinking into the sumptuous carpets of establishments that didn’t have ketchup bottles on the tables. I might even have to start to say “How do you do?” when I met people, instead of “How’s it goin’?” in keeping with my more sophisticated image.
I didn’t go through with the restaurant resolution because my level of enthusiasm waned once I realized I’d have to actually do it.
I’ve half resolved to do one thing this year but it’s pretty ridiculous. It’s the kind of thing that if I was sitting on the couch of a late night talk show and they asked me what my New Year’s Resolution was I couldn’t use my real resolution. I’d have to make one up. Like, I resolve to exercise more. Or I resolve to not think of stabbing people who walk too slowly in front of me.
Why would I have to make something up, you ask?
Because I’d feel like a knob saying “Well Jimmy, I’ve resolved to eat less cured meats this year“.
But that’s really the one thing that keeps popping into my head. It’s probably due to the fact that I currently feel like I have cured meat poisoning from all holiday charcuterie boards. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Karen is an extraordinary human being if the only thing she needs to do to improve her life is to eat less cured meats.”
And you’re right. I, Karen, am extraordinary. I am an extraordinary specimen of a woman with extraordinarily good eating habits, extraordinarily poor nail maintenance and extraordinarily wide feet that require I wear socks at all times so as not to alarm people.
If you were a troll, and you were going to give birth while standing, you would want my feet. Wide, solid, and with enough hair on the goink to get me through winter.
These shoes weren’t super wide to begin with but they were after I wore them for a few days. My feet are pushy that way.
Yes, I, Karen the extraordinary, have troll birthing feet.
And I’m fine with that. I’m fine with most things in my life which is why I have resolution troubles. That and the fact that they’re really hard to keep.
I mean, really hard. Have you ever tried to do anything you didn’t want to do for more than 5 minutes? It’s stupid hard. (work doesn’t count, because at least someone is paying you to do something you hate, and it gives you a reason to buy new shoes)
Oh my GOD! I just came up with my resolution. To buy more shoes. There. I’m done. I’ve resolved. I might even do my feet a favour and after buying a pair of second hand store Manolo Blahniks will also purchase a pair of extra wide orthopaedics for my troll feet.
Of course if I buy open toe shoes I’ll have to shave the hair on my goink*.
So now I ask you, did you make a resolution? And if so, did you already break it?
* goink (def): the space between the first and second knuckle on your toe; word and definition invented by karen, c. 1982
→Follow me on Instagram where I often make a fool of myself←