Monday, January 23, 2012

New Year's

New Year
“Cutting Carbs,” I said. “Trying to stay fit,” I said. “I'll be fine,” I said. I was a freaking liar. New Years Eve had come early one year, and I was caught with my pants down. Of course, with my family being... my family, a resolution on New Years was as necessary as turkey on Thanksgiving, or creepy little rabbits on Easter. I quickly picked the most generic, and “easiest” resolution I could think of. “I'll drop twenty pounds,” I had told my family. It would be simple, just eat one less pizza bagel a day, and I'm set. God. I was an idiot.
Not two days after making my half-halfhearted resolution, I went to the fridge for a one-in-the-morning snack, as I tend to do, and found my fridge as eerily empty as my dating pool. Now, I knew I had stocked that fridge the previous day, and my cats can't have possibly eaten all my food. Who could have done this? Then, it hit me like a wrecking ball.
A few hours later, I was furiously dialing the phone numbers of every family member who had been at that New Years party, steam shooting out of my ears. I just knew one of them must have taken it upon themselves to “help” me toward my “goal.” I cursed that horrible day, New Year's Eve. The dawn of a new start, a chance to change. Yeah, right. Whoever did this was going to get a piece of my mind. I called everyone, Dad, Uncle Billy, Aunt Joel, Cousin Carrie, Grandma Anne, Other Grandma Sue, Other-Other Grandma Lucille, previously Grandpa Lucky, but none would admit to it, of course. Though most of them agreed the culprit was in the right. My loving family.
Finally, I sighed, and did something I was putting off. I called my mother. Some important facts about Mother Dearest, she was a neat freak, not one speck of dust was allowed in her home. Not a sinle dust-bunny. Not one piece of dirt. She would drop a nuclear bomb on her carpet if it meant a clean house. She also really loved the holidays. That relative who always wears cheesy, battery-powered light-up Christmas sweaters, brings everyone fruit cake and insists on wearing an antler headband? My mother. And she hated me, as well. Of course, she said she loved me, like any good mother, but I knew the truth, and it made much more sense.
It was around four in the morning at this point, so of course, I needed an excuse for calling Mother Dearest. I claimed personal problems, I just needed to talk to her. Which was true, for the most part. We chewed the fat for a while, I was trying to make her comfortable so she wouldn't pull that “Oh, dear, you're just paranoid,” line of bull she always uses. Finally, after discussing the merits of various stain removers, I made the leap.
I was casual at first, not wanting to scare her off. “So, I'm out of food.” I said.
“Oh?” she said. “Well, I told you to go to the super market last time I was there. I even gave you a coupon for pork ribs.”
I bit my tongue. The old bat was so cocky. So sure of herself. “I went shopping yesterday,” I said, trying to keep her on the ropes, “and now everything but the milk and a head of lettuce is gone.” I continued, feeling braver “I think a relative took it, you know, because of my resolution. Likely just a misguided attempt to help me along, but still.” I knew I had her.
“Oh, I'm sure it's not that bad. Probably just one of those dreadful cats of yours.” Old freaking bat. “Tell me if you figure it out dear,” she said after a pause. No. I couldn't let her escape. Not now. She was the only one I hadn't called. It was her. It had to be.
“I know it's you, mom,” I told her.
“It couldn't be me, dear. I've been baking all day,” I had had enough.
“Give me my food, or I'm calling the cops, mom. This is blatant theft.”
“Don't take that tone with me.” her voice had become decidedly more severe. “It's not my fault you're fat.”
At that, I hurled my phone against the wall. I didn't have a warranty, but I didn't care. I wouldn't just stand there and take that crap. In the end, I never did get my food back. But I swore then, that I would never make another New Year's Resolution as long as I lived.

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