I’m a girl of mini goals.*

1. Two weeks ago: No eating desserts from Tuesday through Sunday.

In one Sunday evening, I ate four desserts.  Mostly this.  (Note: it rocks.)  Remedial action was necessary.  Fortunately, my best friend Laura was willing to take the challenge with me.  We made it, the Thursday munchies (and impromptu graham cracker exception) notwithstanding.  Right, Laura?  High-five?

2.  September 1 – November 31: No buying new clothes, accessories, and shoes until (roughly) my birthday (December 6).

You guessed it—this grows out of my new desire to be more fiscally conscious.  I appraised my wardrobe and decided anything I’d buy in the near future would be superfluous.  Gail Vaz-Oxlade would not be proud.

Note: I decided on an exception: If I think I emergency need something, I can call my mom and explain to her the situation.  And if my mom—the woman who chose “frugality” as one of our three family values (Charity, Industry, Frugality)—thinks the exception is justified, I can go ahead and buy.  The Mom Clause.

Note 2: BUST!  I’ve already had to use the exception.  When I found myself sticking to my office chair this week, and I looked down and realized that somehow I’d managed to get some serious gum between my navy blue trousers and my black leather seat, and I looked at my schedule and realized I had a meeting with a big partner, who might look suspiciously upon me showing up with a sweater tied around my waist, I called my mom.  She authorized the purchase.  Two hours and an Ann Taylor visit later, and I was hiding in a corner of my office, trying to change my pants before anyone walking by looked too closely through my beveled, frosted-pane glass door.

Note 3: Can we consider?  I had to email my secretary to ask her to arrange to have my chair cleaned.  “Sheryl,” I wrote, “I got gum on my chair.  Help?”  And here I was hoping someday she’d take me seriously.

Note 4: Gum day was not that day.  Two facilities men showed up later with goo and a rag.  They scrubbed for 20 minutes.  I was pretty successful at never looking them in the eye.

3. And the one this post marks the end of: No blogging about boys for one month.

Check out my success: Aug. 24, Aug. 31, Sept. 7 (okay, I punted on last week’s, but still).

Levi Smylie prompted it.  We were driving with Rebecca and Adelaide through upstate New York, and Levi turned to me and said, “Sometimes I wonder what you’ll write about when you’re married.”  I stopped.  “Because I write about boys so much?” I asked.  I hoped that wasn’t what he was saying.

“Yeah,” he said.  “And I understand because before I was married, I thought a lot about women.  A LOT.  But now I think—I wasted a lot of time.”

And the no-boy-blog mini goal was born.  And met.

BOOYAH, Levi.  Boo.  Yah.

Next week: Boys!**

* And some not so mini goals.  For instance, I’m trying to hit all 50 states by the time I’m thirty.  I pick up state #47 this coming weekend.  Tune in Monday for the report on beautiful . . . North Dakota!

** Except, probably no.  See *.  Unless there are boys in North Dakota…  Next week: North Dakota!  And Boys!***

*** If this were next week, I’d here pose the question: Boys or men?  What can/should I call them?  And why, despite my desire to be an adult and a fully operational member of a gendered society, do I feel more natural referring to the males roughly in my age range (22 – 36) as “boys” instead of men?  But I’m not going to write about that.  At least, not this week.****

**** But you can comment about it.*****

***** Unless you have a countervailing mini goal, that is.  To that end, if any of you ever choose an Apron Stage-related mini goal, please send us an email.  We’d feel like rockstars.  And we love that.