Connie is weighed down with NEW YEAR ANGST on an unprecedented scale …
Bizarrely Connie is struggling with her New Year Resolutions. As usual she makes her regular lengthy list of self-improvement tasks. She confirms her appointments for the monthly medical facials, she schedules the trimonthly Botox, fillers and peels. She has pre-bought her fortnightly Ayurvedic massages along with restorative acupuncture and kinesiology sessions. All predictable, sensible, practical measures that allow her feign a serene youthful glow.
She has enrolled in advanced French classes and has made bookings for the opening nights of several tedious but worthy plays. She will diligently listen to concise summaries of prize winning books. She will even condescend to accompany Ruairi the Ruinator to his hideously expensive debentures at Lansdowne Road. Honestly the efforts she makes just to appear cultured at SoCoDu dinner parties.
It goes without saying that she intends on earning obscene amounts of money somehow or other. And, of course, her children will be the focus of much of her energies, she will push Fionn through his Leaving Cert with every grind money can buy, and Molly can look forward to some heavy-handed guidance towards receiving the right kind of summer invitations from her Trinity pals.
One could say there is nothing new, exceptional, or unachievable in this short list of 2019 targets, therefore all the more reason that Connie is utterly shocked to find herself in a state of paralysis and completely unable to seize the year in her normal graspy fashion. For she has endured a life altering experience this festive season.
Connie fell off the wagon, and we are not talking Krug, far worse, she ate her first carb in 17 and a half years and the pleasure drove her insane with desire. She found herself rising in the middle of the night to stuff slices of lumpily buttered sliced pan into her as fast as you could say duck fat roasted potatoes. She developed a take away habit that was only matched by her addiction to Cadburys Heroes. The result is catastrophic, a spongy flabby thing is slung between her hip bones and her inner thighs are meeting.
And in truth, this is why Connie’s 2019 resolutions are in jeopardy as she is too discombobulated to leave the house because her weight has ballooned by three whole kilos. Pure Connie hell.
Read previous instalments of A View From The Jeep …
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