Shame, guilt and token attempts at exercise and feverish guzzling of water with lemon. Thus sums up my days in the wake of Christmas gluttony.
‘But I was doing so well before Christmas…’ I exclaimed to my mum.
‘What? With two days of boxing?’
Yes, I was obviously on a roll before the exorbitance of the holiday season crashed my fitness party.
Now, I must rid the house of all sugar before the New Year, by, of course, eating all of it. It seemed to make sense the other day, a perfect justification for all the miniature Picnic bars and that sickly sweet fruit mince pie. I couldn’t possibly just leave them there, refrain myself and wait for someone else to eat them. Those, cruel, taunting little morsels in red and yellow packaging.
I’m just glad my brother took his M&M dispenser with him. There was something immensely satisfying about turning that silver dial and the little tinkle of two brightly coloured chocolates dropping out. A dangerous novelty. Kind of like the reassuring flashing lights of a pokie machine as you win 40c, while losing dollars and dollars. (Yeah, pretty sure I’ve never played more that 5 bucks on a pokie – evil things that they are.)
‘Don’t make me run, I’m full of chocolate,’ I protested, in my most lame attempt at an Üter voice, as I ran from my dad to the lounge room. Except I wasn’t really full of Chocolate, I was full of sweet, sweet Rekorderlig Cider, and I can’t remember why I was running, probably from another jibe I had made about Dad buying me the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy as a Christmas present.
Sorry, Dad. I know you’ll be reading this, and I’ve most certainly stressed enough what a baffling turn of logic you displayed in buying that god awful trilogy, but, you must admit, it does make for some pretty amusing blog fodder.
Yes, E.L James did start out as a blogger, but that shaky connection to my interest in blogging doesn’t really justify buying your only daughter books about S&M and bondage, though you seemed unaware of subject matter at the time, mistakenly thinking the handcuffs and man’s tie on the front covers suggested a ‘thriller’.
Don’t worry, Dad, the high spirited argument we had over your reasoning provided me with a far fonder Christmas memory than any present could afford. (My favourite part being my explanation that James’ blog had started out as a blog about Twilight, and you responding with ‘But, you like Twilight’. Ahahaha, oh dad. You just say the darnedest things!)
Mum’s gift of J.K Rowling’s ‘The Casual Vacancy’, on the other hand, proved to be a very good read that I devoured in a matter of days. Now, that’s decent writing. Writing that’s subtle, deft and effortless, with skilled characterisation and engaging story telling. Writing that makes me feel like absolute crap about my own writing, and that I should dash all hopes of ever being as good as the irrefutable Ms. Rowling.
Maybe I should have kept that 50 Shades trilogy. At least, perhaps, it may have made me feel better about the quality of my own attempt at a novel! (Ah, that was your intention all along, wasn’t it father? Bless you. You work in mysterious ways.)