Tis the season to make well-intentioned promises about all the things you probably won’t do after January 7th, and will therefore feel guilt and shame about for the next three months or so.
I’m making a list of things I did in 2015 that I most
definitely probably won’t do again in 2016:
I definitely won’t have a fit of New Year’s Eve related organisation, and empty my car, collecting parcels, tipping rubbish into the bin at the petrol station, taking cardboard to the tip, emptying the crap out of the back of the car, and realising, 20 minutes later, that I haven’t seen my wallet since this morning’s Costa Coffee run.
I won’t painfully dredge my addled memory and remember that I almost definitely carried my wallet out of the coffee shop in a paper bag because I didn’t have a spare hand, and all the paper in the car is now in the bin, or at the tip… resulting in me spending a good hour with my arm shoved elbow deep into various bins in our small town, like a hobo, looking for a Costa Coffee bag with my wallet in it. (I found it, though, which is a stroke of luck I probably don’t deserve)
In 2016, I plan to never experience the very special joy that comes with putting down your fresh coffee and hauling your behind off the sofa to answer the phone – only to realise you’re already two hours late for a family party, because you have literally no idea what day of the week it is. Sigh.
Next year I am ALL about the calendars.
I am 100% confident that next year will be the year that I do have festive cookie cutters to hand during our annual festive baking experiment, and do not have to convince my child that the festive elephant and alligator were crucial, albeit less well-known elements in the nativity.
Of course, one way to avoid this ever happening again is to give up baking entirely, which is definitely worth some serious consideration.
I’m very much hoping that 2016 will be the first year in, ooh, forever that I don’t forget a carefully hidden present in the office/wardrobe/car boot and present it to my child with a flourish four days after Christmas with a, “Wow, look what Santa must have forgotten!” Please tell me it’s not just me, right?
2015 is definitely the last year of bike-related incompetence. Certainly you won’t find me, next Christmas, taking Flea’s new bike back to the store after wrestling it into the boot of the car, wrestling it out of the boot of the car and up the stairs at the store.
“The wheels won’t move, I think the brakes are jammed on,” I said to the shop assistant. Who leaned forward, gently took ahold of the bike handles and rotated them through 360 degrees. Cue one perfectly working bike.
Yep. Definitely won’t be doing any of that.
Presumably because I’ll be finding entirely new ways to make an idiot of myself in 2016.