Halloween. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Here we are, smack dab in the middle of the Triad of Feasts. I’m trying to figure out if I’m in heaven or hell.
I love food. I love sweet, I love spicy, I love salty, I love sour. I love Italian, I love Chinese, I love Mexican ... I love international cuisine. I fell in love with my husband over a plate of sushi, for heaven’s sake.
Hotter than wasabi
Most of all, I love this time of year. Candy, particularly chocolate, on Halloween. Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving. Christmas morning cinnamon rolls for breakfast and ham, sweet potatoes, and pecan pie for dinner. Not to mention all the treats in between. And leftovers for days. It’s a food junkie’s dream.
So why does the house ring with agonized groans? Because I can’t indulge as much as I’d like and fit into my pretty clothes. I must make the awful choice between happy food-induced coma or confidence in Armani. It’s down to sinful second helpings or Stella McCartney. Dessert or Dior. Gorging or Galliano.
Devour or DVF.
My two obsessions clash head to head at this time of year: eating and designer wear (which I hunt like big game for pennies on the dollar). Which do I want more? Happy tummy gurgling contentedly around its cache of delicousness? Or attending the school holiday program in that absolutely to-die-for $800 Cavalli skirt that I found for $40?
I’m an all-or-nothing kind of gal. Those who preach moderation would be horrified to witness me at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Just stand back and watch me re-create Everest on my tray...and then eat every last bite. I’d lick the plate if my parents’ well-remembered screams didn’t still echo in my head. I have no shame when it comes to food.
But then there’s Versace. Grrr.
All right, so it’s not just the clothes. I have a bigger reason for counting calories, even during this most edible time of the year. There were also all those months I invested in taking myself from a size 16 to a 4. Across the table sits the reminder of why I got into shape and why I keep myself there.
And his name is NOT Ralph Lauren
I used to be extremely unhealthy. I once ate all I wanted without a second’s pause. I bemoaned my weight, but I didn’t care enough to stop pigging out. Then one day I had an epiphany, right after I found out my blood pressure was going places it had never been before. I realized I want to be around to see the little guy turn into a big guy. Plus I have to be able to catch him before he runs into the street without looking for traffic, as he is wont to do. I can’t do that with my heart bursting or me stroking out because I let myself get out of control.
So I will push away that double portion of stuffing. I will keep the pie slice down to a sliver with no scoop of ice cream. I will pretend to be content with that half-glass of egg nog. And I will try to not watch with envy as my metabolically blessed son eats everything I can’t and stays skinny. Lucky little beloved fiend.
At least I get to suffer in style.