Today, our Thanksgiving group of nine did a formidable amount of food damage. After we nibbled on Chex Mix, the relish tray, cheese and crackers and then gorged on turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, broccoli, sweet potatoes, and cranberries.
The damage control component of the day was the half hour walk squeezed in between the main course and dessert. What else explains how nine people could belly back up to the table and eat fifteen pieces of pie liberally topped with whipped cream? Fresh air and sunshine is worth its weight in pie is what I say.
The way I figure things, if I spend every waking hour of the next two days walking outdoors at top speed, the damage inflicted over the past twenty-four hours might be reversed. Of course unless everyone eats all the Chex Mix and leftover pie while I’m gone, I’ll come inside and resume my hand to mouth existence immediately. And if they eat like that, they’ll be in terrible shape by the end of our holiday weekend.
Since I’m wholly unselfish woman, I’ve come up with a solution that cancels out my overeating without putting the rest of the family at risk: I take my share of the leftover pie and Chex Mix and eat it while pounding out a few miles on my sister’s treadmill.
The idea of having the fam fawning extolling my selfless concern is quite repellant. So I won’t mention my damage control plan to them. Instead, I’ll sneak into the kitchen, nab the last piece of strawberry-rhubarb pie and a quart of Chex Mix, and power up the treadmill.
The fam doesn’t ever need to know how I sacrificed for their health. It could ruin their Thanksgiving, and I love them too much to heap guilt upon them. So please, don’t tell them how blessed they are to have me in their midst. They never need to know.
