Why Santa's So Fat

Yesterday I attended a holiday party at the home of some very generous people. Not only had they provided enough food to feed a small African nation, but many of the attendees brought offerings of their own. The result was a feast for the ages, of which I partook with abandon. Not only that, but a hired bartender was passing out special cranberry juice "holiday drinks" that were lovely to look at, garnished with a festive toothpick holding bright red cranberries coated with pink sugar. Who could resist? Not I, certainly.

Turns out that besides juice, those cranberries were floating in lots of vodka and triple sec, an orange liqueur that is anywhere from 15% to 40% alcohol. Added to the wide  array of foods I inhaled (none of them vegetables), I got home just in time to down some Pepto-Bismol before passing out cold. Happy holidays, I guess.

And that was just the opening salvo to the approaching season of giving, drinking, and stuffing one's face at office parties, art gallery openings, school fairs, neighborhood gatherings, family celebrations and the usual 14 Days Of Baked Goods laid out at our local post office. If I continue down this path without doing something drastic like having my teeth wired shut, my entire wardrobe could be obsolete by January 1.

If only the holidays ushered in a period of fasting. Now that would be something to celebrate.