Forget Jenny Craig, stricter measures are in order. Like wiring my damn jaw shut.

I mentioned yesterday that like 95% of the people on the planet, I started my New Year with the same-old-boring-resolution to live healthier and eat better and exercise more. Blah blah double triple blah. I say boring because it’s the same resolution I make every year, and every year I do great until approximately Jan 8th, when the pressure and stress and abject longing for chocolate push me over the edge to the point of mainlining Hershey Bars. And since I don’t think playing the drums on the Wii Rock Band my kids got for Christmas actually counts as aerobic exercise, I feel safe in the declaration that so far, this year’s resolution is already a big fat failure. Goodbye fat jeans, hello yoga pants from the plus-size section!

Fast forward to this past weekend:

So, it’s great to be living back at home, and finally be “in the know” as far as social events. Social events like the current planning of my high school reunion which will be taking place this summer. Did I mention it’s my TWENTY-FIFTH high school reunion? Holy crap, I’m old and that’s depressing. So I signed up on Facebook and started reconnecting with people and playing the “what have you been doing?” game with everyone, which I am just nostalgic and sappy enough to totally love.

Of course, it plays right into the fantasy we all have, right? Showing up at a reunion looking all hot and foxy (do people actually say “foxy” these days?) --- stunning everyone you haven’t seen in years with your youthful beauty. (Don’t try and deny the fantasy … you KNOW you have it, too.) I’m sure I can accomplish that …. I just need to do something about these wrinkles. And age spots. And gray hair. And twenty thirty forty extra pounds I’m carrying. (Again, what with the resolution that is not working out so well.)

Then I heard from a classmate that I used to date. That I used to date a LOT. That I really, really, really liked …. And, ok, fine. I’ll just say it. At the time, I thought he was the one … the, THE one. And yes, as an adult I can look back and realize what a dope I was at eighteen, but at the time? Broke my heart.

His wife?

Who I actually met fifteen years ago at a reunion and liked very much, but never saw again because we never lived anywhere near one another?

That wife???

I just found out ----- is a freaking aerobics instructor.

Hole. E. Shit.

Perhaps since diets always fail me (or I fail myself, if you want to be persnickety about it) THAT is the incentive I need to stick with the resolution and lose twenty thirty forty pounds in the next five months. Like I want to stand next to her, looking like THIS??? With rubber bands popping willy nilly all over my fat jeans?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some celery to nibble on and some water to guzzle. Then I’ll be scheduling some Botox and Rejuvaderm and highlights and tanning sessions and a face lift and a tummy tuck and …………… oh, hell. Maybe I can just be away that weekend. Doing something vastly more fun. Like cleaning the muck out of sewers or something.