So New Year’s has passed again, and I’ve decided that it’s time to lose a little weight. It’s not that I’m fat, I’m just husky. I made this observation using the scientific instrument commonly referred to as pants. For those of you who aren’t part of the hipster scientist in-crowd, you can tell that you’ve gained weight when said pants no longer fit. They don’t, I’m bigger, and I’m annoyed.

I ask myself, “Who should I be annoyed with?” I already refuse to speak with Aunt Jemima, Mrs. Butterworth, the Cheeseasaurus Rex and that Land-O-Lakes guy with the feathers. Do I need more food-related enemies? It would be a lot easier for me to feel better about my weight gain if I had been brutally force-fed by Twinkie the Kid, but it hasn’t happened.

I’m the one who keeps shelling out the dollars for fancy foods. I’m the one who calls up my friends to go hit the Indian buffet. I’m the one who needs to realize that maybe it’s not worth it to keep eating like this.

In case you and I have never dined together, it’s not that I go out and order batter-dipped lard with a side of fries. I try to eat balanced meals with vegetables, fruit, and little fat. I pepper my bread instead of using butter, drink orange juice instead of soda, and strongly prefer the lightest of the light ice cream to any of Ben & Jerry’s concoctions. I do, however, love my chocolate and pretzels and don’t keep very good track of my snacks.

Oh, and I never exercise.

Although I’ve put some effort into staying in good health, it hasn’t been enough. I can already hear my third-grade teacher knocking at the door to tell my parents “he’s just not living up to his potential.”

Since self-loathing and nightmares involving Dr. Shever generally haven’t helped me much in the past, I try to justify my behavior. “It’s OK to ignore the long-term consequences to enjoy immediate pleasures every once in a while, right?” I’m not sure I want to give up dining on the luscious chocolate souffle.

Then I realize that my “once in a while” is every 30 minutes. Forty-eight “once in a whiles” a day probably isn’t healthy.

I feel like I’m on the right track and have started looking into “not really diet” diets like the Atkins diet. Perhaps if I follow a program, I can overcome my desire for curries and chocolate mint confections. Then I notice that the Atkins-endorsed products, such as snack bars, cost so much that they should be dipped in platinum rather than chocolate.

Am I supposed to find a job to make money for my diet? Then I read that the Atkins diet may increase my risk for heart or kidney failure.

Although I don’t think of those two organs as fondly as my favorite fatty foods, I’ve been told that they’re pretty important.

Next, I start looking into the Weight Watchers program. Since the 1960s, it has helped housewives nationwide look embarrassed in pictures marked “before” and smile brightly while holding gigantic pants in pictures marked “after.” A points system is used to keep track of dieters’ goals while they continue to eat the normal foods they enjoy.

I’ve never been great at math, but more importantly, I’ve never been great at enjoying thimble-sized chocolate cakes. Plus, following the Weight Watchers program would add one more item to the list of things I have in common with the Duchess of York. I’ve decided to hold off on signing up for the club just yet.

So my dieting research doesn’t exactly sound promising.

I don’t want to risk my health on fad diets or go to weekly meetings to tell some strangers about my dieting sins. Instead I’m telling you, strangers, that the situation seems somewhat hopeless. Will I motivate myself by self-loathing to trust myself to make the right dieting choices? This somehow sounds very unlikely.

However, I’d rather not give up dieting just yet. There are more books out there to throw money at and more people to hear my complaints.

Maybe letting you all know about my progress will push me along in the right direction.

Maybe I’ll just slip into some sweatpants and make a protein bar sundae.

Maybe I should have just resolved to buy bigger pants.