After ringing in the New Year with a few great friends and enough butter chicken to drown a small town, here came 2012, all smug and stupidly cold. Daring me to make something of it already. Go on, make some promises to me baby. Make 'em big. Then ignore me like the food under the table in a restaurant. Too scary. It's fine. Your stomach should stick out that far when you’re totally not pregnant at all.

I have a plan. Sort of. Ok, maybe I'm pinning much too much on my impending gall bladder removal. (RIP devil stones. I hope you enjoy your ride down an industrial hospital chute into a soggy bag of limbs and pus. F-ck you very much for all the great times ruined over the past year.)

While googling what is sanely digestible for a gall-bladder-less person post-surgery (best done when drunk - it makes the results only mildly devastating), I recall the safe list consisting of something along the lines of air and the whitest driest chicken breasts available.

Oh, could it be true! One more piece of the culinary buffet set on fire and thrown out the window to land on top of wheat and gluten. No fat, man. None. At least that's what I'm telling myself. I'm sure the reality of it is kinder to cheese, butter and mayonnaise, but why not take this opportunity to show my failed resolutions that they can suck it.

I'm here to play. Let's lose this! And by "this," I mean accumulated pounds of goo lovingly applied to my whole body, knuckles and all, by eating in the most willy and nilly of fashions. Don't ask where all the Christmas chocolate in the world went. Because it is currently doing a do-si-do with my gallstones.

In the best fat kid mentality ever seen outside of a bulk candy store, I ate my face off all December and January. Pretending that all my favourite things would be extinct when I woke up Feb 1, drowsy with anesthesia hangover and a terrible taste in my mouth.

So here’s a fond farewell to Toffifee, you amazing son of a bitch. Tell Kraft singles and potato salad how much I always loved them. And how much I will miss ice cream with late night movies. And if I give myself diabetes by the end of the month, it will have been SO WORTH IT.