Well the
holiday food onslaught has begun.Right now in my office there are no
less than five kinds of festive snack treats. No one seem s to know
exactly where they come from, they just appear in the break room in the
morning waiting to be eaten. While I’m not much given conspiracy
theories I have entertained the thought that the snacks are delivered
overnight by malicious imps fired by Santa and now in the employ of an
underworld cabal made up of the owners of gyms and weight management
systems. Does anybody even know what Jenny Craig looks like? A more
plausible (but far less interesting) theory is that my co-workers have
brought these sugary treasures to the office motivated less by the
holiday sprit (although I’m sure that plays some part) and more by the
desire to have them out of the house.
Now
I’m sure that the covert purveyors of these things both sweet and
savory believe that they are spreading holiday cheer and no doubt they
are. To those of us who can’t help but answer the siren call of a tray
of brownies however( or Moose Munch. MMMM sweet, sweet heroin) , it fills this time of year with chocolate pitfalls.
The story is very much the same in most every office, the eaters (we
know who we are) make periodic trips through the break room to graze
(just as we did through Swiss Colony at the mall in our younger years)
and the non-eaters have water packed tuna on endive say things like “ Oh I never eat sweets, even as a kid I didn’t like them” and “ I can’t stand that fake meat. I feel awful if eat even a bite”
this as I hide a half-eaten Hickory Farms of Ohio Summer Sausage under
my sweater and make for the door. I leave the nut encrusted cheese ball
to throw my enemies off the track and I haven’t even mentioned Chanukah,
a holiday in which you’re actually required to eat fried foods.
Those
of us who “shake like a bowl full of jelly” know that we are helpless
when confronted with Pecan Log, fresh from the oven Monkey Bread or
latkes so we’ll just wait it out until the New Year when we’ll return to
counting calories, carbs, points, miles, reps or whatever it is that we
have to count to undo the collateral damage done to our mid sections,
butts and thighs by the holidays. So until then my fellow pudgy revelers
you bring the honey-mustard and I’ll bring the Summer Sausage. Meet you
in the break room in half and hour.
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