Of course, all I want for Christmas is a literary agent. But it looks like Santa isn’t ready to leave me one beneath the tree, tied and gagged with a pretty red bow. SO I’ve decided to set my sights a little lower.
This Christmas…I want to get fat.
Yes. It seems I have actively decided to put on the pounds. If its main component is butter or sugar it is in. my. mouth. Getting fat is easy, inexpensive, and kills time like nothing else. Really, a number one gift idea if I do say so...
Sure, it may be the source of clogged arteries, tooth decay and an expanding waistline but who really cares about the fine print at Christmas? Who doesn't buy the toy just because it 'may contain chokable pieces'?
I just tell myself ‘life is short and simple pleasures are numbered. Might as well enjoy the hell out of it before I die, right?’ So in comes the pastries, the white breads, the meat patées, and jellies.
Plus I’m not doing much writing at this time of the year. It’s a shame really. If I’d mixed the buttered sweets with hours spent typing in front of the computer, I’m sure I could get my ‘ass’ets to expand even faster.
Speaking of food, unless Santa does really surprise me with a call back from a fairy god agent, Thursday’s post will be exploring the pleasures of the French ‘Reveillion’- a feast that rivals our own Thanksgiving. I hope everyone has a fantastic holidayJ
Now, go get fat, people!