How to Survive January

Opinion|How to Survive January

I’d like to put forth January for worst month of the year. February requires you to trudge through only 28 or so frigid days, with the promise of spring on the other side. December had parties and procrastination and excuses to suspend conventions like meals per day (third dinner) and portion size (a cocktail fit for Ina Garten). In January, you’re staring down 31 bleak days, the legal limit, with no hope of things turning around any time soon.

Ideally, I’d like to see January wiped off the calendar, but one must endure it. Over the years, from my berth in the Northeast, I’ve developed a survival guide to ensure I make it to Valentine’s Day.

Start with your hands, which I trust look terrible by this point. I categorize hand creams in progressive levels, similar to the DEFCON model of military readiness. We begin with Level 3: an everyday variety from the likes of Jergens or Lubriderm, moisturizing yet light enough to be swiftly absorbed into the hands, so you can apply it and then leave your home.

Then again, how many times are you actually leaving your home in January? Proceed to Level 2, where you have options: a neon green tub called O’Keeffe’s Working Hands, or a slightly darker green tube called Weleda Skin Food. The names signal we’re getting serious. They’re heavy enough to take some time to sink in, but not so incapacitating as to prevent you from scrolling fantasy flights to Miami.

The pinnacle, Level 1, can be applied only right before bed, or any time you get that January feeling of “It would take an actual DEFCON 1 situation [imminent or current nuclear war] to get me to leave this spot on my couch.” That’s the occasion for Eucerin Original Healing Cream, spackle for the skin. Apply to your hands, your elbows, probably not your feet — they’re simply too far gone. Wear socks until spring.

Do not move until the thick white goop recedes into your sad winter skin. It could be days. A joke about Go-Gurt from an old Ellen DeGeneres special comes to mind. “Was there a big mobility problem with yogurt before?” she asks, then mimes picking up the phone and receiving an invitation from a friend. Moments later, spirits falling, she remembers she’s just opened a traditional yogurt that must be eaten with a spoon. Having committed to the complex task at hand, she obviously can’t make the date.