This is a picture of me on Thanksgiving at the tail end of gorging myself on the piles of food provided to us at my parent’s house. Don’t I look happy and thrilled to be alive?
It happens every year: I starve myself all day, get to Mom’s completely famished, and start packing the food away like it’s going out of style. Eventually I end up feeling like I look in that picture, and you know what? There was still pie waiting in the wings when that shot was taken, and hell yeah, I had some. After the pie, I felt like the guy on Geraldo that ate until he was so large that he couldn’t get up or even out of his room… Hambone, I think was his name.
And then the night after came: Out to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. I hardly ate all day.. not because I was preparing again, but because I was still full from Thanksgiving dinner. 1 hamburger the size of a football and a half piece of chocolate cheesecake encased in whipped cream later, I was back in Hambone Zone. And worse yet, there was a freezing cold Pinto and 10 mile drive ahead before I got to lay down.
Enough, already… I am officially sick of food. Nothing sounds even remotely appetizing right now, and I don’t think anything will for the rest of the day. Maybe I’ve pushed my body to the limits and I’ll feel full forever and never eat again. Have I gone over the top this time? Did I push it too far? Water doesn’t even sound good. I get full just breathing.
Wait – is that fried chicken I smell? Get me a plate, I’m going in.
