My dreams dive-bomb in the ditch because I am so unrealistic.
For example, I once made a resolution to stop biting my fingernails. For heaven’s sake, I was chewing off my thumbnail while writing that dumb goal on a sticky note.
Yes I still have nubs. I have devoured my fingernails since I was a kid.
For nearly 25 years I told myself that I would drop my baby weight.
My kid is taller than me and much smarter than me too. He even has a beard! I have finally taken that resolution off the table.
Another year I insisted that I wanted to run a marathon. Um, I don’t even run when I have to pee really bad.
My lazy attitude is, “Well if you don’t make it in time, that’s why you have a washer and a mop.”
Excuse me but I don’t even power walk.
Why in the world did I believe that I could do anything at a marathon except maybe wave at people as they ran past where I stood in the shade, watching them sweat?
My resolution frenzy also centered on trying to be someone other than who I am.
For years I envied the tall string-bean type of woman.
You know that female, right? She wears yoga pants to actually go jogging instead of grocery shopping. Her stark-white tennis shoes are cute. Her shiny hair is pulled back in a bouncy pony tail. She says things like, “I forgot to buy more hummus!”
The second type of woman I always admired is crazy about home decor and fashion. She smells like orchids, calls everyone darling and never cusses.
Now that I am older and smarter, I let go of being different than who I am.
I hate shoes, especially tennis shoes. I hate pants too, any kind. Ponytails give me a headache. And as long as Twinkies are in the world, you won’t see this chick choosing hummus and crackers.
I fail just as miserably with my attempts to be more like that second type of woman.
I am far more like a bird perching for awhile than a tree taking root. So I don’t need to decorate. I like to move too much. Also, I loathe shopping and trendy stuff makes me gag. Fashion isn’t worthy of my time, especially since I just admitted that I hate shoes and pants.
For some reason I give my close friends nicknames, so if I call everybody darling, get me to a brain surgeon as fast as you can. That is your clue that I have suffered a stroke.
And the goal about cleaning up my vocabulary? Well I can’t even say that resolution with a straight face.
If I had to stop cussing, my head would pop off.
No resolutions for me this year except to continue every day to be inappropriate and unpredictable while trying not to pee my pants when I laugh.
But then again, that’s why I have a washer and a mop.
Sherri Coner is an award-winning journalist and humor writer who speaks to women’s groups. To learn about her books for women and to join her on Facebook, visit www.sherriconer.com.