Thanksgiving at the fire station has come and gone.  Now I have to commit to bypassing all holiday junk fare or go full throttle ahead.  It’s a yearly decision I consciously am forced to make.  Don’t even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.

It’s either continue to diet through New Years or have the usual, “I have to loose ten pounds” resolution.

It starts slowly.  First I purchase two—no, make that four— bags of holiday candy because Dr. Mike always comes at Thanksgiving and I want it festive…for him.
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   Then I remember that Mike loves fiddle faddles, his son Joey fried chicken and wife Diane all forms of baked goods.  As I cruise the slice and bake cookie bin I deftly retrieve gingerbread for Samantha’s art project, chocolate chip for Eddie and sugar cookies for the guests.

Then I remembered that the meal at the fire station was to be amply catered from a convalescent hospital in Eddie’s district, all except dessert would be provided.  So I backed up through the Betty Crocker aisle and peruse all things chocolate.

I love holidays at the station.  The guys don’t let you cook or clean up and you can leave when you want, especially if they are interrupted with runs.  Your meal is always hot, theirs cool.  But they love taking such good care of us.
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  They bask in it.  This year I didn’t waste my time on the dry old bird but delved full steam ahead into the mashed potatoes, ambrosia salad, stuffing, sweet potatoes and four teeny slivers of different decadent desserts, just to be polite of course.

Next comes the treats we get at the dental office.  I’ve figured out that the reason our wonderful patients are so generous with homemade black licorice, See’s candy, peppermints and rum balls is a big payback.  You see we’re INSURED against all forms of decay and freak tooth fractures and try as they might they can never get us to feel what brought them to us, some of the time, in the first place.
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  And you think we didn’t realize it?  The “rum” balls don’t even make a dent in making us forget it.  We love it!

So as I sit here at a local Chinese take out contemplating why people seem to be ordering three-item combos without any form of vegetation…. I realize that they too, just like me, have given in to all forms of temptation.  Yes I’d like the Mandarin chicken, orange chicken and spicy chicken…but one more item is only .49?  Well…I don’t want to cheat myself…lemme have the sweet and sour FRIED shrimp to put me over the top.  I’ll diet all through January.  It’ll be fine.  Really.

So what if I have to bring my heart rate up to 178 in my combo row/spin class just to compensate?  I just keep chanting through panting: It’s just one more piece of almond roca, sliver of canned cranberry, a tiny oblong of crème de menthe, a square of homemade fudge, a 4 ounce glass of Irish cream liquor and the last piece of pumpkin pie that I can have…this year.

I’m crossing my fingers that John Boston can squeeze me into the limo along with the real staff at the Mighty Signal to view the twinkling lights of Santa Clarita this holiday season.  No, its not to be verbally whipped by them but to partake in all the goodies he’s pleaded every week for through Count Sauguslavsky.  I promise to supply something—not homemade—to the eclectic mix.

And to all of you out there not wanting to think about New Year’s resolutions just yet: Good luck to us all and to all a good, filling, night!