Wake up with fresh calendar page enthusiasm and calculate the number of days until you must squeeze your winter ass into a bathing suit: Forty-one days, forty-nine tops. Not the worst news in the world if you start behaving right now. I mean not right now – go ahead and finish your third cup of coffee made velvety with half-n-half. And the toast with butter and orange marmalade – it won’t kill you. But then, after that. I mean not directly after that. There’s lunch with the girls to consider and that place makes fantastic tuna melts. But – you know – after that. Do not fall face first into tonight’s Book Group cheese tray, do not kill two boxes of Entenmann’s dessert treats. Instead fill a glass pitcher with water and orange and lemon slices. Decide this is a way way way better drink than wine. Exfoliate your knees. Dog-ear a few bathing suits in the Lands End catalogue – be grateful this year’s Mix & Match Separates feature bottoms that resemble walking shorts. Do a hundred sit-ups. Or thirty – thirty is fine too. Do I hear eighteen? Decide to keep a journal. Grab the pretty leather bound thing you got two birthdays ago. Notice that the first two pages are already taken up with last year’s May 1st entry. Resolve not to eat a crumb of food after 6pm. Except maybe this crumb here from last night’s Entenmann’s dessert treat.