Last year's holiday season came and went in a morphine haze. It's as if it never happened at all. I was skeletally thin, I could barely move following that asskicker (pardon le francais, mais, dans cette case, c'est necessaire) surgery, and prospects felt utterly grim.
BUT NOT THIS YEAR, BABY.
'Cause I'm back. With a vengeance. I've got energy to spare. My scar is but a faded, winding thread down my abdomen. I'm nice and doughy and none of my old clothes even fit anymore, AND I DON'T CARE!
-Constructed and decorated a gingerbread house
-Rolled, cut, frosted and decorated at least 6 dozen Christmas cookies
-Hand-painted a dozen ornaments
-Lit and decorated a big tree, hung 4 stockings with care, wrapped garland on my stairs and plunked holiday paraphernalia on every available surface I could find
-Played Christmas music on my car radio nonstop since late November
-Taught my kids at least 6 carols
-Addressed 200 Christmas cards (want one? send me your address!)
-Watched "Frosty the Snowman" at least 5 times
-Taken the kids' photos with Santa. Twice.
...and it's only December 13th. Don't even try to stop me. Because THIS is what happens to you when what happened to me...uh, happens.
formerly a professional writer.