In the spirit of the New Year, I can not help but think about those annoying little things that rear their heads this time of year. Resolutions. I do not like them.
I read once that only 75 percent of resolutions are kept past the first week of the New Year and only 46 percent are still going after six months. Regrettably, I was guilty of not sticking with my resolutions year after year. I just can't keep them. Or, so I thought.
I am happy to say I kept every single resolution of the past two years. So proud of myself, I am, that I think I'll keep the same ones.
My New Year's Resolution list -- Things I Definitely Will Not Do In 2011.
Two years ago I made the resolution that I will not try out for the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. As those of you who have followed the Cowboys' less than desirable season, I am happy to say it is not my fault. It was not my spastic cheering on the sidelines to blame.
I did not attempt a singing career.
"Can we turn the channel?" my daughter asks as we drive down Highway 82 toward home. Gloria Gaynor belts "I Will Survive" on the radio and, it being one of the few songs I actually know the words to, I sing along. Loudly.
"No, I like this song," I say ... well, actually sing ... to the tune of the song. She gags a little, regains her composure, then professes that she can't believe that I actually consider this music.
"This is a classic song," I tell her. "A world-renowned anthem of female empowerment. Still popular since the 1970s."
She looks at me. "I wasn't talking about the song on the radio. I was talking about your voice, your singing," she says. Well ... I ... I can take a hint.
I have not fried chicken. For two years I have resolved to not fry chicken. I do not, however, resolve that I will not eat fried chicken.
I have not bought scratchy toilet paper. My father used to say that life is too short to not eat steak or use scratchy toilet paper. He also believed that if Wal-Mart doesn't sell it, you don't need it, and that the truest way to find out who your real friends are is to have your funeral at six o'clock in the morning. All good points, I think.
I have not jumped out of an airplane and I have not worn dreadlocks. I did not, without-a-doubt, give birth to sextuplets whose names all begin with the letter J. I suspect that would seriously hinder my chances of trying out for the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, should I ever change my mind on that one.
And last but not least, I did not eat a pickled pig's ear. I didn't just resolve not to eat one, I swore I'd never eat one. I know it's not nice to swear, but I swore. A big swear. And, to my knowledge, I haven't eaten one.
Of course, if somehow one got slipped by me and I ate it, I'm sure I would have noticed. And I'm sure I would have survived. What would you expect me to do?
Do you think I'd crumble? Do you think I'd lay down and die?
Oh, no. Not I. I will survive.
One more year of Resolutions. I will survive.
Contact columnist Mandy Flynn at firstname.lastname@example.org.