. . . to gain 50 pounds.  Or 100. 

Like most people, I’ve been making the rounds of holiday parties.  One on Thursday, two on Friday, etc.  Then of course there’s the viral effect:  On Saturday I had only one soiree on the agenda, but I ran into friends who kidnapped me and led me to yet another party, which in turn led to another.   As a card-carrying social butterfly, I love every minute of it.  Being new in town makes it even more fun, because I get to meet lots of people all at once.  And unlike other venues, when you’re at a party everyone’s in a good mood.  But the trouble is, all that holiday cheer and frivolity can lead to overgrazing at the buffet table and hypertippling when the champagne gets passed around.  I heard an official statistic on the news that the average holiday weight gain for Americans is something like seven pounds.  At first I couldn’t believe it; but after my weekend of parties, I think that might be a conservative number. 

One fete I attended was a grand, catered affair, and those can be especially insidious:  When the waiter passes, it seems almost rude not to take whatever hors d’ouevre is being offered — after all, the host spent a lot of money on the food, so it’s  impolite to say no.  And those little nibblies are so dainty!  Some, like those pastry-encased goodies one encounters, are so light as to seem almost ethereal .  Never mind that the phyllo-encrusted proscuitto-wrapped duck stuffed with brie has about 9 trillion calories per bite. 

At one point I sidled up alongside a veritable mountain of Bodega Bay oysters, which seemed innocuous enough.  No fat, after all.  How healthy!  Of course the cholesterol content is another matter, as is the fact that I looked down to see 20 empty oysters shells!  I scuttled away before the crabcakes came out.

And those drinks!  Why, oh why do they have to be so clever and tempting in their whimsicality?!  I came across drinks with fresh ginger, cutesy beverages with Santa hats in lieu of little umbrellas, warm mugs of steaming cider and mulled wine, and of course the ubiquitous champagne.  And let’s not forget the litany of theatrically named drinks:  The “Christmas Cosmo, “the “Holiday Ho-Ho,” and the “Merry Mindwarp.”  I’m not making this up!  As with the hors d’ouevres, it’s clear the host put a lot of thought into planning the beverages, so who am I to say no? 

Another party I attended was a simpler affair, but no less dangerous to the waistline.  The hostess had put out dozens and dozens of different deserts, and had  thoughtfully miniaturized each.  In theory, this enabled her holiday revelers to sample lots of varieties without splurging on calories.  In theory.  But here’s what can happen:  I ran into an acquaintance near a tray of these goodies and got involved in a deep conversation about the gravely important topic of upcoming sales at Barneys.  After thrashing out the finer points of our shopping strategies, I reached for ‘just one more’ desert nibble, only to find the tray completely empty.  You can imagine my horror, not to mention the humiliation —   I was the only person near this particular tray.  I sped away before anyone noticed my crime. 

As I was trying to make my escape, my hostess foisted yet another indulgence on me:  Here, you MUST try this cake!  I went all the way to San Mateo to get it! she cried.  Sigh.  What’s a guy to do?  Try it I must, so try it I did.  It was indeed luscious, to the point that I want to find out the name of the bakery in San Mateo . . .  but I  added another 5,000 fat grams to my tally. 

This week, I’ve got another half-dozen parties to hit, and that’s not including Friday and Saturday.  My only consolation is the job opportunities it creates:  If I find myself out of work, I can always get a job as a mall Santa . . . and I won’t even need any padding around my middle!

Thanks to ponanwi for the photo!

Posted on December 17th, 2007 by Thomas
Filed under: Uncategorized