Cookies, and Cupcakes and Brownies Oh My

And as the reality of winter settles in and the holidays fizzle out and leave nothing but endless stretches of cold, gray, doldrums ahead of us, Scott and I decide to plan something. Anything. Anything to break up the long wait for Spring and the day the boat goes back into the water.

Scott's birthday is in the Spring and I want to take him on a trip to celebrate. I decided that would be our tradition on his birthday last year. What else would you do for the man who has everything? Plenty of cool clothes. No interest in jewelry. Owns dozens of phenomenal toys: Boat, jet ski, snowboard, skis, trick skis, rollerblades, great bike, cars, and every electronic gizmo you can name. (As opposed to J. whose niftiest gadget was a pacemaker, thank you.)

Scott and I travel well together. We both relax and enjoy it all wherever we go. No pressure. No rushing. Nothing to be highstrung about. No fussiness about accommodations or where we dine or what time we do anything. Or how much luggage to bring. (By comparison, J. only carried a suitcase so he'd have someplace to conceal his cigarettes and could not understand why I'd need more than an outfit change or two in the fashion capital of the world.)

Scott's birthday is a Big One so I'd like to do something special. (Move over Charlotte, you have more company in your age bracket!) I am thinking Ireland. He is thinking warm and sunny and sandy.

Key West. Of course.

We get on line. We investigate flight options. We read hotel reviews. We examine maps of the island. I ask a friend who travels there often for advice. We log onto Expedia and book airfare, hotel, and car. I am already packing in my imagination. Making lists. Putting together outfits. We leave in a month.

A month!

OMG - I have a month to shed the Just-One-Christmas-Cookie-Won't-Hurt-Anything tonnage I've put on since Thanksgiving.

OK, it is really only four pounds but really, on my frame, 4 pounds looks like I'm wearing a lifejacket. Sorry. "Personal Flotation Device." My apologies to the Girl Scouts of America.

I look at my treadmill. It has boxes containing all the contents of Hil's bedroom furniture sitting all along the tread. I have no intention of moving them. Yet I know that a few turns on the treadmill would surely get me in fit, firm, fighting shape. And still I have virtually no motivation to clear off the boxes and hop on.

Instead I'd rather eat salads and drink skinny cocktails or even take up smoking to shed the 4 pounds. And sit here with my laptop writing my blog instead of running on the treadmill next to the ironing board and the kitty climbing thing.

What is wrong with me? Do I have SAD or whatever psychobabble excuse for being lazy and lethargic during the winter? In the summer, I would pick up and go, walk, run anywhere, lift and carry anything, swim, do yard work, wash the car...anything to get myself in motion and sweating. Now all I want to do is curl up in an electric blanket. Not even the need to shed 4 pound in 4 weeks motivates me.

I know what to do. I will do the Atkins diet as modified by Kate the year she tricked me into losing 20 pounds. No more than 5 grams of carbs a day. I'll be a shadow of my former self in no time.