spa towel“Ripppppp.”

Thus spake my bath sheet as I wrapped it around my shoulders yesterday morning.

You’re thinking, “wow, her holiday food frenzy must have been extreme,” right?

Ha! You’re wrong. In fact, I weighed exactly the same on the day after New Years as I did the day before Thanksgiving, thank you very much. It’s not like I don’t want to lose some weight, but not gaining over the holidays was quite an accomplishment.

My towel was the victim of old age, not my girth. I should probably be mortified to admit that it dates back to the Clinton administration, but, hey, what can I say? I like it. Liked it, anyway, until it unraveled in my hands.

I considered my options. Make this one work until I have time to get to the store? There was a time when I would have done that, flipping it so that the torn edge was at the bottom. I’ve grown, thank goodness. Use another towel from my linen closet, one purchased in the twenty-first century, even though it’s smaller? No way. That bathroom’s cold in the morning. I need to be surrounded in terry cloth.

Then I remembered that, since I’ve posted every day since New Years, I’d stuck to a commitment, but I hadn’t rewarded myself. I’d even outdone Martha Beck’s suggestion in her book The Four-Day Win, by working toward a goal for five days without a treat.

I left work really late that night. I was tired. My feet hurt. I didn’t feel like stopping at a store to buy a new towel. Especially when they weren’t on sale and I didn’t even have a coupon.

But I’d earned a reward.

My new bath sheet is perfect. Thick. Soft. Luxurious. It makes me feel like I’m at a spa.

Rewards are good.

I’m motivated to work toward the next one. Wonder what it will be?

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