Dear Christmas,
You vixen, with your promises of wishes fulfilled, of happy family time, of a winter wonderland of fun and frivolity, how my pants hate you now!
Oh, I know, darling Christmas, that I have purchased a new, more accurate scale and its calculations might differ from my old one, but still, how can it be that I put on a pound for every day of turkey-roasted time off?
Don't you know, my Christmas, that when I was young and belonged to the 4-H beef club, I was supposed to log the weight of my calf all summer, with hoped-for weight gain of a pound a day? Do you know, oh precious yuletide, how hurtful it is to see the numbers on the scale going up, up, up just like the fatted calf?
You knew, didn't you, darling vacation, that my friends were going to bring their mothers' baking to New Year's Eve. But, oh, no, you couldn't make even one of those morsels of delight less than delicious, could you? Couldn't you keep me away from the champagne and canapes and cheese for just one day?
Christmas, you saw the delight in my eyes when I donned my wedding dress on Christmas Day, my long-sought goal of the Hunting Weight season; how could you take it away from me so very, very soon?
Oh wonderful Christmas vacation, thank you for the fun, but for the next few weeks, I'm sticking to water and plain, simple, high-fibre foods. Quinoa is my new best friend, not you, Christmas. Quinoa and water. It might just be the first water I've had since the 24th.
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