I ripped the carcass of my Christmas tree out of the house today. Its debris scattered everywhere and caused a two hour cleaning spree leaving me feeling wild and pissed off. Between the gloomy weather, the shoe that I live in with four children and all their new Christmas stuff, coupled with the dust and grime surrounding me, I’m ready for things to turn into something resembling The Shining around here.
So I gave up, thawed out some homemade sauce and made a big pasta dinner for the football game. Sunday is after all, a day of rest. God says so. So after stuffing my face, I submitted to my carb coma, curled up like a cat and watched football. It’s now after six and I’m still sporting some old, ugly sweats and unwashed hair. I’m feeling foul- in every way.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve gone to the gym (I had only gone three times before Christmas break) and I’m afraid my ass won’t fit through the double doors when I head back next week. After over-indulging in food and alcohol for a week and a half, I’m feeling bloated and really attractive sitting here in my super sexy getup. But my husband once told me that sexy was more than just the way you look. It’s the total package- your attitude, the way you walk. It’s a complete state of mind and you either have it or you don’t.
So at the risk of looking like I should be on Jerry Springer, I’ll comfort myself with the delusion that a little extra holiday cheer isn’t so bad. And reassured myself that I’m still sexy, as I suck down a cold beer and eat yet another fudge ball. Because even in my glowing green sweatpants and bad hair, I’m stilling working it.
Meh, I’ll just make sure I bring some grease with me when I head back to the gym- for the doors.