Smith Says

  • Thursday, January 17, 2013

It’s that time of year again: Time to make promises to ourselves that last about as long as an afternoon nap.
Widdle Baby, aka the World’s Smartest Husband, doesn’t make New Year’s resolutions until he darn well wants to. If it’s not until July, who cares? January is too cold and dreary to resolve to do much of anything except watch movies and eat chocolate-covered peanut brittle.
Speaking of chocolate-covered peanut brittle, it’s my new sin. My downfall. My doom.
Most of y’all know I’m a little cracked when it comes to diet—nothing fried, no sugar, bread, flour, rice, potatoes, pasta or red meat. I don’t want to say I’m smug about how healthy I eat, but I’m smug about how healthy I eat.
That was BPB—Before Peanut Brittle. Now I know God hates smug. Know how I know? Because that box—a gift from one of Widdle’s friends—sat untouched on the dining room table for almost a week. I ignored it. I was not tempted. Widdle sampled a piece and pronounced it good. I shrugged.
But on Jan. 1, as I dashed by the table, the devil took my sleeve and I stopped. I opened the box. I tasted a piece. Then another. Then I dropped whatever I had in my hands and grabbed big chunks of that sweet, salty, nutty, creamy, crunchy goodness. I gobbled it standing up, then took the box to the computer and ate some more. It was the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.
Finally, I closed the container and taped it shut. I took it to Widdle and said, “Hide this from me. Please.” As he lifted the much-lighter box, his eyebrows flew up in shock. He looked at my chocolate-smudged face and said, “I’ll take the rest to work.”
Back to New Year’s resolutions: Here’s my list for 2013. Whether I can keep them is open to debate.
This year, I….
Will finally acknowledge that God is in control, and stop with the worrying.Will drink less wine, although I can’t imagine why.Won’t judge so much. This is my absolute worst habit, and I hate it. I think I know someone’s story by the way they dress and talk and act, but I don’t.Will do what Widdle wants to do instead of saying, “Wait, what will it cost?”Will alphabetize our vast book collection. When pigs fly.Will be a better housekeeper. See above disclaimer.Won’t waste so much time on Facebook and celebrity gossip sites.Will stop yelling when the dog barks for a snack at 2 a.m. (I’d like to smack her with a newspaper, but Widdle would divorce me.)Won’t hang anything on any wall in our home. (We can’t see the paint for all the paintings.) Widdle, who hates nail holes, will hold me to this one.Won’t obsess about the lines on my face. I can’t do anything about them that doesn’t involve money and pain, so pull up a chair, crows’ feet!Will sleep more and snore less. (We can only hope.)Will eat my main meal before 10 p.m., which may help with the snoring.Will speak slower. I talk like there’s a 10-second timer on my mouth.Won’t immediately imagine the worst when a relative calls. In my family, no news is good news.Will smile more. For what these teeth cost, I should smile in my sleep.Will be more patient. Hahahaha!!Julie R. Smith, who said nothing about spurning chocolate-dipped peanut brittle, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.

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