My game plan going into Thanksgiving dinner was to fast during the day, exercise, and then eat a reasonable meal. I also swore off dessert (unless there was pumpkin pie available and then I would indulge in a small sliver, about the size of a wood chip).
I had researched some eating strategies prior to the event. Chew a lot. Drink plenty of water. Fill up on vegetables and fruits.
When it was finally game time and the family sat down at my sister-in-law's table in Baltimore I heeded my guidelines and completed the affair feeling as if I did all right. My preparation paid off and I pushed away from the table feeling pretty good. As a matter of fact, I felt svelte.
(Kudos to the host and hostess, by the way - coordinating a Thanksgiving meal for a large and diverse group is a sadist's dream come true - it was concocted by a community of religious puritans, after all).
Intermission set in after the meal and conversations arose as everyone caught up on the past year's family events. I relaxed and relished the moment of being in a warm, safe place with good company.
And then a bunch of pies showed up.
It was a crew of hoodlums to be sure - vanilla cherry and apple caramel walnut from the local orchard had hooked up with sweet potato and pumpkin from the city - a regular dessert thug syndicate.
I started to sweat and went over in my mind the well-laid plan of partaking in a section of pumpkin pie that had to be measured in micrometers. I ambled over, picked up the knife, started to cut...
and blew it.
I commenced to eat a slice of each one.
(For posterity purposes, I will quickly rate them beginning with my least favorite and ending with the best: cherry vanilla, sweet potato, pumpkin, and apple).
I then wolfed down half of a salted caramel tart for good measure.
The pie Bacchanal had a huge effect on my psyche and I dreamed all night that Dean Martin and I had teamed up to fight giant eyeballs from outer space and only he and I could see them (ergo the selected photo of Dino's head popping out of a pie as Peggy Lee watches. It looks to be pumpkin, too).
It is now the day after (Black Friday) and I can attest that there is such a thing as a pie hangover.
Oh, well. That which does not kill me....
To the gym, Batman.