Ugh. I love Thanksgiving but seriously…why does the holiday have to involve expansion of the waistline and a bottle of Tums? I always think I’m going to play it smart, take a little of this and that and be comfortably full. Yeah, right.
You’re starving and smelling the food cooking so of course, the salivation factor is rising. The growling stomach doesn’t help and only adds fuel to the hunger fire. Hovering begins as the food is being plated and served. Not that you don’t want to pray and give thanks, but the food is there and calling your name. You beg for the condensed version but denied by the death stare of your grandparents.
The sampling of each dish soon becomes, “Can I have just a smidgen more? Oh, maybe another little scoop.” Before you know it, your plate is completely covered and food is stacked inches high. Oops.
You don’t want to put any back because, first it’s gross, and second, you don’t want to offend Grandma. Back in the day, we had to finish our plates if we wanted dessert. Nowadays, the kids aren’t tortured with that pressure….that is, until Thanksgiving.
Forcing yourself to finish is not good. You can only cough the food into your napkin so many times before Grandma wonders why you have a soggy pile of them next to your plate. This is the time you wish there was a dog under the table you could toss scraps to.
In the end, I’m swollen and miserable. Everything tasted great, but once again, I have overindulged. There was zero room for the pumpkin pie. Dessert would have to wait for another day. Next year, I swear I won’t do this again….yep.
Confused Woman! 
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