In case you haven’t noticed, we are officially in that period of time between Halloween and the New Year, affectionately known by some as “The Hippodays.”
Starting with the remaining Halloween candy that lasts into December; segueing into the hearty Thanksgiving meal and leftovers I eat for a week; followed by the Christmas cookies, chocolate Santas, and all of the 10,000-calorie holiday parties in between, I can count on a good five-pound weight gain each holiday season.
Did I say five pounds.  I meant seven.  Or perhaps ten… depending on how much Halloween candy was left.
All this means by New Year’s Day, I invariably arrive at the same desperate resolution… to lose the weight I put on the three months before.
Of course, I am not alone in my holiday weight gain struggles.  Some of my friends enter a frantic period following the holidays when they know they’ve got to lose the extra poundage before they go on vacation over February break to some warm weather locale that will necessitate the wearing of an unforgiving, itsy-bitsy tankini.
Not me.  I wisely married a guy who likes to ski in the winter.  This means I have a grace period of five months post-winter weight gain to get myself back in beach shape before Memorial Day rolls around.
The unfortunate thing is, I can successfully remain in denial about the holiday weight gain well into April, hiding telltale tummy rolls beneath layers of winter woolens until the clock changes and the polar ice caps melt, and then suddenly, everyone in the Gap ads is wearing sleeveless tees and I realize it’s Spring and I still have the byproduct of all that Halloween candy accumulated around my thighs.
So much for that grace period.
Of course, I could do what many of my friends do and blame the excess weight on having had children. This works well for someone who still has a newborn or even a toddler.  However, by the time your kid is in college, the excuse wears thin.
Denial and excuses aside, the day finally comes when some old lady pats my tummy and asks me when the baby’s due, that I know it’s time to get serious.  Crash diets and frantic exercise classes ensue lasting all of one week until I throw in the towel and resign myself to another summer of beach sarong’s and mumus.
Having been on this treadmill many, many times before, I wisely decided to nip the already gained holiday weight in the butt, er, bud, and start my diet and exercising in the midst of the holiday season. I called all of my friends for moral support.  Then, in the spirit of the season… I took a large bag and I went through the house, and left barely a crumb for even a mouse.
(My apologies to Clement Clarke Moore for what I’m about to say).

“No Snickers, no Twizzlers, no Skittles or Twix.  Doritos and Cheetos and Fritos are nixed.

To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!  I’ll lose the weight, lose the weight, lose the weight, all!”

But then from the front there arose quite a clatter. So I went to the door to see what was the matter.

It was a guy dressed in brown with a package for me.  I couldn’t imagine what the parcel could be.

I tore open the box and out fell a note.  “Happy Holidays to you,” a friend of mine wrote.

“Here are some cookies for just you alone.  I’m not getting fat, this year on my own.”

©2011, Beckerman. All rights reserved.

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