The holiday eating frenzy began earlier than usual for me this year, due in part to the continuously replenished Halloween Butterfingers in the pumpkin-shaped bowl that sat on our receptionist’s desk for most of October. I have no idea how many times a day I passed by that bowl, but I know I stopped calling colleagues so I would have an excuse to walk across the office and by the Butterfingers bowl, exercise which in no way compensated for my burgeoning caloric count. I’m sorry to say that the tremendous Halloween uptake of Butterfingers was followed by near daily consumption of two large chocolate chip cookies, and this lack of restraint together with the Butterfingers has resulted in my entering the holiday season with a few extra pounds gathered around my midriff. Also my thighs, which in classic middle-aged lawyer spread, feel to be stretching the seams of every pair of pants I own. Adapting my friend Grace’s favorite line from The Devil Wears Prada, I’m at least three stomach flus away from my perfect weight.
I do usually try to keep it in the one to two range.
Although I love the holiday season—the festivities, food, and good cheer—this year I am putting myself on a bit of a regimen so I don’t swell right out of my clothes come January 1. For starters, I'm vowing that one meal every day will be comprised solely of a salad. Also--dammit--I'm swearing off the chocolate chip cookie lunchtime habit. My running partner, Ashley, has to be bathing-suit ready for a January trip to Belize, so I’m hopeful this means more running time for me, a good thing for my thickening thighs. And given that tomorrow is likely to be starch-intensive—mashed potatoes and stuffing—I’m trying to take it easy today.
Lunchtime is nearing, though, and already I hear that siren chocolate chip cookie call. Do you hear it, too? It sounds like sweet tinkling bells of cheer and good will, and it makes my eyelids go heavy and my stomach growl. I feel myself falling under its spell . . . .