Economists generally agree that high rates of inflation are caused by an excessive growth of supply, and in my case the supply included cake, cookies, heavy cream, butter, cheese, crackers, chips, candy, pizza, and a 3-ounce glass of white wine. (And I wasn’t going to drink, darn it.)
Weight Watchers reminds us that Thanksgiving is just ONE meal, but for this point-counter, that ONE meal was surrounded by a week that began with a diner pancake feast and continued with a half-week of festive “work celebrations” (“work celebration” is code word for layer cake), compounded by the mid-week rally of the leftover Halloween candy. It was a week where the only thing that was exercised was my patience. It was a week where my kitchen was turned into a cooking and baking machine, fueled by enough bites, licks, and tastes to feed Somalia. One of my jobs was to make the sugar-free desserts – and the two made-from-scratch pies had sensible-yet-tasty fillings. But oh, the butter crusts…can you say double-digit points for a mere twelfth of a pie? My Weight Watcher eTools points tracker looked like the National Debt Clock, rolling relentlessly forward with no easing in sight.
Thanksgiving was a mere kickoff to a three-day extravaganza of food, family dysfunction, and pizza. Saturday night was capped with a piled-obscenely-high trifle of syrup-soaked pound cake, raspberry sauce, and whipped heavy cream – and I brought the cream. Yes, there were raspberries on top, and thus, it counted as a fruit. This hearty party weekend decadence concluded a mere 10 hours before the Sunday weigh-in.
I woke up this morning contemplating economies of scale, and donned my barely there underthings, summer tank shirt, and the lightest weigh-in pants I could find that would not get me arrested for public indecency. I took off my glasses, stepped on the scale, exhaled as deeply as I could without fainting and hoped for the best. Up 1.2 pounds. Could have been worse. I’m praying for a significant downturn next week.