You get to make quite the scene forswearing candy, the remaining quart of egg nog, and the last slices of fruit cake enroute to recapturing your High School physique.

Like all religious zealots, the Monday after the last bleat of festive horn becomes so much more important, given you’ve sworn never to eat sweets again, promised most of your fishing weekends to ardent gym workouts, and are revitalized knowing neither processed white flour nor the Devil have a grip on your vitals …

I’m not going to belabor the point nor burst your sweaty bubble. Like every other attempt you’ll find out for yourself that Tofu and Seaweed tastes like gummy boat bottom, fresh fruit and veggies is a close second, and nothing you’ve found tasty or flavorful is on your permitted list, at least not without a couple hundred sit-ups.

While you’re tooling aimlessly through the city streets tempted by all the bright colors and considering breaking fast – knowing you love the paper hats, hot grease, and fries, perhaps you’d consider exercising a bit of will power and purchasing your new fishing license instead.

Yes, amid all that sugar and remorse you’ve overlooked the fact that you owe once again.

… and the completely certain thing is that if you chance even a single trip, despite being heeled with all the proper credentials for the last 35 years, a warden will show. You’ll be apprehended while protesting mightily, and after you display all those conservation memberships in your wallet and on your bumper, they’ll throw the book at you.