No more, sir, please, no more ...

      I love Christmas. Always have, hope I always do. But I'm beginning to think I don't love the food that goes along with it. I blame this on IBD partly, but mostly on Weight Watchers. I, of course, have cheated over this holiday season. I've had enough turkey, potatoes and gravy, rolls, yams, pudding and pie to last several bears through the winter. I've went to parties, lunches and gatherings until I've started flinching whenever someone says, "We should get together."
      I should be strong enough to resist the food. I'm not. Won't pretend to be. If you put it in front of me, I will eventually eat it. I'm sure if I had been with the Donner party, I would have survived and perhaps gained a pound or two. My best choice is to not put it in front of me.
      Not to mention my IBD doesn't like rich food. I'm a great believer in a fairly bland diet, something that I'm used to and even like most times. I don't mind a change of pace occasionally, but lately my diet has been doing the cha-cha-cha.
      It's amazing how much food factors into our special occasions. I've yet to go to a get-together without there being some munchie offered. Even business meetings offer doughnuts. We live in a land of plenty, and we eat plenty, too. We eat too much, too often and too fattening.
      So I'm ready for the food part to be over. The laughing, talking, hugging, singing, exchanging gifts, making phone calls and playing board games can go on for a while longer. But as for the food, no more, sir, please, no more.