Well, it’s started, and all I want to do is run away until it’s all over. The lead in to the holiday seasons has already begun. Let’s start with homecoming parades that fill small town streets during October. In our little town of Clayton, NC (which I love beyond sanity), the homecoming parade for the local high school is a big deal. They block off Main Street and small armadas of floats sail down with kids throwing candy to those who gather to watch the parade. Halloween isn’t here yet, and already I’m being pelted by candy. Granted, I had my four-year-old son with me at the parade, but seriously, how can I expect to lose weight when we collected a shoe box full of candy? It’s staring at me now from atop the refrigerator, taunting me and telling me that I won’t be losing much of Mary in the month of October.
Sure, I know the logic. Halloween is only one day; Thanksgiving is only one day, and Christmas? Plueeeeze! There are fall parties, Christmas parties, cookie exchanges and more. The next eleven weeks might as well come with a sieve. Just shove the food in. I know the tricks, eat before you go, or make sensible choices when you go to the parties and gatherings. In my case, it’s best not to show up. As much as I love decorating, the crisp chill of the autumn air, the bon fires and the family gatherings, the food is my downfall. It trips me up as it spreads itself on table tops, beckoning. Somebody throw me a life line please!
As I’ve matured (I refuse to say as I’ve aged, it’s bad enough I can’t say as I’ve slimmed down), I’ve come to understand that will power does not exist in my vocabulary, let alone where weight loss is concerned. I try to use diversionary tactics. I’ll decorate, but stay away from baking until the last possible moment. I’ll go to a party but try to stay on the porch and chat my way around the crowd, away from the food and the delicious aromas that try to pull me to the table. After the third or fourth party, all bets are off. Who can resist? I want to taste the new recipes, gobble the turkey and stuffing, and bite into the creamy goodness of the mocha cheese cake. I swear, by the time Christmas gets here my Spanx won’t even make it over my thighs. They might as well be a big sling shot because they’ll fly off me and wing around the room the minute I try to pull them up. Even Lycra has its limits.
So, I am begging my friends to change their venues. Could we have a “Rake the Leaves” party, or “I’ll help you hang your Christmas garlands and you help me hang mine” gathering, instead of progressive dinners? How about a Christmas ornament exchange with veggie platters and, okay, a little brie? Oh please help me help myself to something other than cookies! My stretchy pants are calling, and I really, really want to ignore them.
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