I Am Leftovers
YOU WOULD THINK THAT AN ENTIRE WEEKEND would be enough time to recover, but I still feel like that beached whale. I am still giving thanks – only now it is thanks that I’m still alive, having survived my gluttony.
By this time of life I should know better and be more into a Zen-like state where I don’t engage all of my senses in a spate of overdoing it at the dinner table.
“Oh, Grasshopper, you are personally responsible for the famine in Asia. Because of you millions of people will go to bed without any pumpkin pie. The children will never know the meaning of Kool-Whip.”
It’s too late now. All of the food from last Thursday is long gone – downriver and no longer a hazard to navigation.
Conspicuous consumption is such a ‘70s thing anyway. I know better – or at least I should, but I’ve never claimed to the Champion of Moderation.
Now that the culinary tsunami of Thanksgiving is past, and even the leftovers are looking pretty pathetic, I have about a month until Christmas washes ashore. Then I’ll get another chance to either show myself as a good example or… I trigger a Green Bean Casserole Alert in the Third World – again.
Between now and Christmas I will also be entering a program to help me to control my uncontrollable behavior. It’s either do that or the children in Bangladesh will miss out on Mashed Potatoes and Gravy. Things like that could get me turned into a villain in some Bollywood Musical/Drama. My family doesn’t need the shame.
For the next few weeks I will be trying an “Aversion Therapy” regimen. I will have to sleep wedged between two thawing Butterballs and a 12-pack of Hawaiian Dinner Rolls. The theory is that doing this will turn me off from those foods. It’s a nice theory, but I think we are having Ham and Tamales for Christmas. Maybe I should have ordered the Tex-Mex Edition of the Therapy Plan.
All of this makes me sound like a heartless Midwestern version of Jabba the Hutt.
I am a warm and snuggly Geezer who has a bit of a problem finding the line that separates “No, thank you, I’m full.” and “More! More! I’m still not satisfied!”
As the next festive holiday draws near I know that there are nervous souls around the world. Little children are looking up to their mothers and asking, “Mummy, will I get to have any Stove Top this year?”
To be honest I can’t promise anything, but I can offer one glimmer of hope to those who are holding their spoons and forks at the ready. I don’t like cranberry sauce so keep your eyes peeled for any unguarded “Ocean Spray.”
I was just feeling silly when I wrote this. I really don’t have such uncontrolled dinner table gorging (much anymore). And I have never caused any famines in Asia (it was Africa). As far as sleeping in between two turkeys and some dinner rolls goes – how silly can you get (it didn’t work).
But I really don’t like cranberry sauce.