Waddayamean, you never heard tell of a Halloween resolution? How many times have you awoken on November 1st and said, "Oh, God. I'm never, ever going to do that that again."?
There you go--Halloween resolution.
I've pretty much already decided not to resolve to give up anything that would negatively impact my blogging capabilities--like candy corn or beer. And while I did briefly entertain the notion of making an effort to bellyache less about how much work I have to do in relation to how little time I have, I think we all know I'm not going to do that, either.
What I will do, I think, is resolve to enforce the parameters of my personal space more stridently that I have in the past.
I think we can all agree that as a general rule, we stand much closer to one another than is absolutely necessary. If I can just convince the people with whom I come into direct contact during the day to stand at least five and a half feet away from me, I can resolve some of my body-image issues without having to resort to expensive, time-consuming therapy.
I can stop worrying once and for all about the ever-expanding size of my pores, and whether or not a rogue chin-hair has popped out during the drive into work. For that matter, I won't have to spring for one of those $23.00 five-bladed razor refill packs, since it would no longer be possible for someone else to see my long, Van Winkle knee hairs from that distance.
As long as you stay over there where you are supposed to be, you should be none the wiser on those days when I slept just a bit too long to allow myself time to wash my hair, and the fact that my head smells like a week-old, wet bathing suit should not cause you any discomfort at all. From almost 6 feet away, you might not even be able to tell that I am wearing clothes that I slept in last night.
The more I think about it, the more I warm up to the idea. And if enforcing a six foot, no-fly-zone around my person really does enable me to stop worrying so much about what other people think, I may even one day be able to shout across the room, "See? It wasn't me after all. It was you."
Here’s the proximity deal I will cut with you regarding all of my physical flaws and the few you might have:
We list them
We share them
We get over them
There are only about 7-and-a-half people that I can comfortably allow in my bubble. You are one—so, we have to work something out.
Of course. I always meant to make an exception for those who love my pores.
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