A bold and truthful start! If I have any control in this universe (and there’s a good chance that I don’t) the only baby my body will carry this season is one compiled of an eclectic assortment of food. Cookies and cakes and everything baked—go big or go home! This Buddha’s not a baby.
We all know that it’s likely to happen. (I mean, come on!)
I will not hide it just to save face.
T’is the season to get tipsy and lose most your grace.
A cocktail, a bottle, a biddle, a buzz.
Due to family or money or just (hiccup) ’cause.
(The rhyming stops right here.)
Between food babies and booze babies, it’s not looking good—but I WILL TRY this holiday season to resist the edible evils that are my diet’s doom.
I will not get fat. I hope I will not get fat. I will not get too fat.
Charged With Murder.
With fingers crossed and a small, yet impactful donation to local law enforcement—this season will not end with pressed charges. Peace on earth, goodwill to everyone, right? Come on, family, for one holy goddamn magic-filled night can’t we all just get along?!
Time is ticking at a surprising pace. For every pine needle that has fallen, event that’s been planned, gift purchased, stocking hung, meal prepped—a fine, fresh line gets tallied on my face. (And gray runs astray.) Santa, some night cream and a little tuck here and nip there, will ya? You thought those were laugh lines, huh? That’s rich!
Matches on Tinder.
Can’t a girl have a little fun?
Robbed of time, robbed of money, robbed of my youth! And they call it the season of GIVING! It’s a wonder we show up to play this same game each year—holidays aren’t cheap and neither is therapy in the aftermath.
Need I explain?
Perhaps I am getting wiser!
I’m staying out of it.
The drama, the fury, the fight.
Not. Getting. Involved.
Jiggy With It.
Much to my chagrin, I pee my pants when I dance. (Thanks, Lily.) With that, I’ve adopted my own version of the white girl snap-and-sway which I perform from the sidelines with style and sass. Unnnnnlesssss, of course, I’m wasted! Then, I’ll Will Smith that Jiggy With you, it, your boyfriend’s grandma AND the valet—all over the dance floor.
What’s a little pee, really? (Let’s hope there’s not footage.)
The Flu Shot.
I am woman, hear me roar! Also, I’ll be sick. You can expect a seven-to-ten day stretch of sad, weepy flu-induced social posts around the third week in January. Fever high, spirits low. Have mercy, don’t rub it in, and if you have any love for me you’ll make me THIS SOUP. It’s magic.
Better at Jiu-Jitsu.
It’s probably because I’ve never tried.
The holidays are quite the cluster, aren’t they? Nobody’s left unscathed! I know that; I’m ready for it– and THAT’S my secret! Join the madness ladies and gents, it’s will never disappoint! (Unless you let it.) The holidays bring the memories you’ll laugh (and cry) about for years to come. Don’t fight it…invite it!
Have a Very Merry Christmas and if you’re lucky—you won’t get everything you positively never wanted this year. Cheers!
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