The problem with a job like mine is the desk time. I'm sitting here all day, knowing the trove of leftover Christmas candy (and Easter, too), is a mere flight of stairs away, calling my name, asking me to come on down and join the chocolate party. One bite won't hurt, it says.
Yeah, like I've EVER stuck to one bite of anything. I love those woman in Hollywood who diet by taking one taste and then having the waiter whisk away the cheesecake or mashed potatoes. Either they have incredible willpower or the waiters are on their payroll.
I always feel bad for the chef if I send something back without finishing. Does he take it personally, like me, a mom, does? If someone didn't touch one bite of the cinnamon sweet potatoes he slaved over, does he wonder if it's his cooking? So, I make it up to him by ordering the Chocolate Mud Pie. Hey, there was a chef in France who killed himself when his restaurant lost a star. I can't have that kind of thing on my conscience.
Cleaning my plate is just my gift to humanity ;-)
Yeah, tell that to my bathing suit next month
Back to work,
Listening to: "Live Like You Were Dying" by Tim McGraw