Hello disillusionment, my old friend

So, we've deduced that when I travel, I have the willpower of Lindsay Lohan at a crack den in Nigeria. So, if I know this about myself, and if I know I'm likely, nay... certain to pick up weight, why don't I just accept it and diet when I get home? Ahh yes.... If only...

My problem is that travelling brings out my inner Pollyanna. It makes me completely incapable of being realistic and reasonable. It makes me wildly optimistic; ridiculously hopeful that a lifetime of terrible habits can be wiped out simply because I've changed my scenery, as opposed to my self.

Here are some examples:

• Even though I know that I'll generally start out the holiday at a certain size, and that I'll end the holiday being at least one size up (size 12 to a size 14, for example), I'll still insist on buying and packing size 10 clothes. I know what you're thinking. WTF???? I know, I know! I can't explain it. Something short circuits in my brain when I'm packing, and I truly believe that just because I'll be in a lovely exciting location, my life-long battle with my metabolism will cease to exist. And I'll magically be stick-thin and able to fit into slinky clothes and eat like a lumberjack. Naturally, we get to day two of the holiday, and all the stuff I've schlepped with is about as useful as as Paris Hilton at a rocket science convention.
• I'll believe that even though I've never taken my make-up off before going to sleep, and never worn face-masks and never used pampering creams and serums, that I'll do all of this while travelling, and therefore have to pack bags and bags of face goop and smelly girly stuff. Which Poodle normally ends up using. (He usually looks and smells amazing by the time we get home!).
• I'll be certain that even though I've never read a guide book in my life, and refuse to read maps (which sounds better than: I'm completely incapable of reading them), that this time will be different. And I'll stock up on at least 10 different guide books that I will drag from pillar to post and never read. Until we're home, and then I'll realise how much we missed out on!
• I'll be convinced that even though I hardly ever wear anything other than jeans, shorts and baggy tops, this holiday will be the time when I'll magically transform into a feminine waif-like creature, who will enjoy wearing floaty skirts and dresses and slinky tight outfits. Of course, on holiday, I stick to shorts, jeans and baggy tops, and still feel uncomfortable in skirts and dresses. All images of me running slow-motion through flowering fields (with my dress billowing behind me in the gentle breeze, and a giant straw hat perched on my head) die when I realise how hard it is to find flowering fields that don't also contain pissed-off armed farmers. And dresses that aren't see-through. And stupid straw hats that don't make you look like a tosser and keep falling down over your eyes. Though, the first point allows me to say that I would have worn them if they weren't all two sizes too small for me.

Sigh. Disillusionment is a dangerous flaw in a traveller, and I promise to never do these things again.

Or....I swear, this time, I'll be different!!!