Aah, here we are, once again, on the eve of Thanksgiving, aka National Pig Out Day. I can't think of another holiday that glories and celebrates the wonder of gluttony, except maybe Mardi Gras, but that's not really a national holiday. But I digress.
I'm not sure which grocery store I will hit up on the way home today. I am supposed to make a dessert for the feast I am attending. Creamy, smooth, peanut butter pie? No, that's my sister's. (More on territorial foods at family gatherings in my post-gluttony blog.) I think I will scour the internet for a low-cal dessert that four people will eat, right before they have "just a tiny piece" of peanut butter pie, chocolate layer cake, pumpkin pie, and chocolate chess pie. All with whipped cream on top.
I kind of checked out on the whole cooking thing after I got divorced with the rationale that hey, I don't have to be Betty Crocker anymore. Phew. Load off. For the record, I did cook quite a bit when I was married. I even tried to cook a turkey one year, but it took a really long time to cook because I kept opening the oven door to baste it, hoping to get that crackly skin but moist turkey underneath. I have since learned that my local BBQ establishment will graciously provide a smoked turkey in exchange for money, and all I have to do is "warm" it. My kind of cooking!
I am going to try to follow the recommendation of a trainer I know and eat white meat and a few spoonfuls of carbs and non-creamyfied vegetables (think anything with cream of mushroom soup). Yes, it will take willpower; yes, it will take lots of self-talk that involves thoughts of me in a bathing suit next summer; yes, it will take positioning myself away from the food area and not grazing. And the key word here is try.
So, much like Mardi Gras beads, if you see me with dark meat on my plate, chawing away at a turkey carcass, you will know I have completely, totally, and splendiferously embraced the holiday.