‘Tis the new year, which means, among other things, that it’s time for 2011 confessions.
In the past year, I have judged vegans because they don’t eat delicious things like cheese and bacon. I have entertained inappropriate thoughts about the hot moms of some of my friends. When asked to choose between getting out in my community to volunteer at something potentially unpleasant, or sitting at home with a bottle of beer and my beloved Netflix instant queue, I have almost always chosen the latter course of action.
I made a joke about harelips. I bought a copy of Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang at the airport instead of reading the Mary Daly book in my backpack. For lunch, I ate an entire tub of hummus on hint of lime chips. Twice.
I told my friends I was converting to Scientology.
At a boring, day-long spiritual retreat, I waited till the free lunch was over before making an excuse to leave early.
I felt a surge of acute, internalized sexism on the night my car wouldn’t start, and neither I nor the two middle aged women with me knew for sure how to jump a car battery. (I secretly expected the man in the group to know. He didn’t.)
I tried to do a breast self-exam a couple of times, but it made me squeamish, so I decided I’d just hope for the best.
I gave up on trying to like Tegan and Sara.
How about y’all? Any confessions as you begin the new year?