Every January, Bag Lady loses the will to shop, what with burnout over all the consumerism of the last 60 days.

And then, I look over and see an 11-month-old note scratched in pen on the corner of my desk: “Jan. 10 is National No Pants Day,” and, somehow, I find the will to shop again.

Or, I nearly find the will to shop again.

Because despite that flickering retail spark, what would I shop for, not-pants? So that only leaves . . . air filters, suspenders, mountain goat kibble or new skis? The possibilities are too vast.

Better not to poke the shopping bear this week and just bask in the National No Pants Dayness of next Tuesday.

Let your legs run wild with abandon. High-five other pantless folks.

Or just walk with Bag Lady, pants-free, down Lisbon Street. I’ll be the one in the darling mohair skirt.

Ridiculous commercials and the ridiculous consequences thereof

Over time off during the holidays, in between organizing closets (more on that in a sec), I took in a fair amount of kicking-back TV during which three commercials stand out for their awful awesomeness. Well, two of the three were awesomely awful; one was Oprah.

My first double-take featured wrestler John Cena, whose pecks flex multiple times, inexplicably, while Hefty Ultra Strong trash bags are rung up by a cashier. On the Hefty website, the commercial is labeled “Pec Flex: 15,” which means I’ve somehow slept under a rock while he’s starred/pec-flexed his way across America and into our hearts?

All that means maybe I’m alone in being icked out? Maybe I’ll see the light by “Pec Flex: 27” . . . 

Next up: Oprah shilling for Weight Watchers! Oprah, Oprah, Oprah. I appreciate that you struggle with the rest of us, and sharing that makes you more relatable, but I don’t believe for a second that you don’t have a staff of chefs who could whip out a mouth-watering 400-calorie dinner or healthy 100-calorie snack with 10 minutes’ notice.

The absolute worst and most-frequently-aired of the three: The commercial for The Addiction Network, a network of treatment facilities, presumably, not a TV network. Mr. Bag Lady joked that he thought he’d seen the fellow playing a doctor on TV collecting signatures in front of the post office last week; the young, stiff guy is about that believable.

It’s awful, it’s irritating — and not even in the way that the Trivago commercial guy irritates me by having hair and an outfit the exact same washed-out shade of brown. At least I believe he’s traveled a time or two.

Dr. Addiction, no. Not having it.

So about those closets

So psyched to report that I organized not one, but three closets while on vacation, two of which had truly become open-door-quickly-and-slam-it-shut-before-something-falls-out disasters.

In weeding out, tossing out and Goodwilling, I discovered I own five pairs of flip-flops:

• Two of the $1.99 variety suitable for taking the garbage out;

• Two of the all-day-comfort variety suitable for the beach or other touristing adventures; and

• One pair covered in colorful mustaches whose comfort/practicality falls between the others.

I’m not sure how I got into such a flipping abundant state, but I opted to keep all five and use it as a personal challenge to wear all of them this summer. Because summer will happen again soon! It’s a mere 140 days or so away. Give or take.

Also happening soon: Love!

Maybe. We certainly hope.

Bag Lady and Shopping Siren are absolutely hooked on the A&E show “Married at First Sight.” Couples meet for the first time at the altar, say I do, then either disaster or lust/like ensues. It’s pretty addictive, so much so that last August, we shopped for what we would buy a betrothed-to-be, sight unseen.

Commercials have started airing for the new, upcoming “Married at First Sight: Second Chances” with two of the people shafted on season two getting another shot at love/lust/like.

Oh, we are so there. Can’t think of a more promising way to start 2017 than with clean closets, no pants and hope. 

Bag Lady’s true identity is protected by a pair of stylish, sweater-wearing Doberman pinschers (who are over this ice already) and the customer service counter at the Sun Journal. You can reach her at [email protected]

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