Holiday Danger

At first we are strong, aren't we? No, no thank you.

I'll pass for now.

No, I don't think I will.

Thanks anyway.

Then you sneak in a bite of something. Just a lick really. It doesn't taste like it would be harmful.

Little bites aren't bad.

The next time it's a whole slice/serving of cake or pie. Not a big one, but a slice on a plate with a fork.

And the one after that is regular size. You're entitled. It's Christmas.

Forks, plates, napkins.

Why yes, thank you, I will.

Before you know it, you're popping those little chocolate balls, those Swiss things that I can't spell, into your mouth with impunity. They don't count. They're too small.

NO piece of candy really counts. Candy is tiny.

Candy is beneath the radar.

If you're cooking things at home, you start licking the beaters and the bowls and pretty soon the spoons. It's a short slide down, dare I say it's a mudslide down with thick double whipped cream. Plates of cookies that the neighbors bring. Lemon squares [though inferior to chocolate, they can be pretty good]. Sugared nuts.

Macaroons.

Well. Let's not go that far.

And finally, of course, dear god help us all, fudge.

Where does it all end?

I'll tell you where.

You. Passed out on the kitchen floor with chocolate covered cherries drizzling out of your mouth. Reaching for the telephone to call 911. Or 411 to get the number of that really excellent candy store where they make the chocolate pizzas.

That's where.

Fa la la

love,
becky

I'm still saying no thank you. Stay tuned.