Tis The Season of Foodie Guilt

It’s over.

I’m stuffed.

And I’ve locked the self-inflicted sense of guilt in a box hidden in a recesses of my mind only to be unlatched in just a few days.

Yes, the unsupervised self-indulgence of holiday eating gets kicked into high gear when I prance into the season’s first open house and partake of every conceivable glutten-ladened, calorie-filled morsel guaranteed to wreak havoc with my vows of ‘reasonable’ eating.

Then I will spend the next 11 months attempting to put the guilt back in the above mentioned box. You know that box, the one for abused promises of foodie restraint.

I’m not certain the guilt is all about eating anything and everything. It may be the perverse joy I feel as I shake my ever-growing hips at those stupid promises I know I won’t keep. Of course I’m going to clean my plate piled high with wonderful tidbits guaranteed to add pounds and digestive discomfort.

I have replaced the joy of receiving brightly packaged toys from Santa with the ecstasy of a month-long orgy of sweets, unwrapped and prepared by someone other than myself. Yes, Christmas cookies, pies, pastries, and pounds are just waiting for me. And I’m not going to disappoint those wonderful guilt elves that hang around this time of year. No sir, I’m going to make certain that when I wake up on January 2 I’ll have enough guilt to fill the box that needs to be stored in my mind closet for another year.

Of course, the guilt box seems to get heavier and heavier each year, but some old timers have told me that as I age (how much older can I get?) the guilt of overeating seems to take up less space. Maybe it will begin this year. Well I can always hope, and isn’t that what the Christmas season is all about: Hope?

I do love this time of the year…guilt and all.