I call it my Seven-Pound War.
From our Thanksgiving eat-fest to right after the Christmas and New Year’s holidays, I usually gain about seven pounds.
Boof! Pants fit tighter, joints feel even more overworked and I develop this strange obsession to check what’s in the refrigerator at 11 o’clock every night.
There is just too much leftover turkey and dressing, too many plates of Christmas cookies and all those holiday meals that are sandwiched between hors d’oeuvres and desserts — courses that are usually not available to me during the rest of the year.
I was a skinny little twerp while growing up and ate everything on my plate in order to someday hit the triple figure mark on the scales. The holidays helped in that effort. But back then, it was a long hard battle to gain weight for me.
Not so anymore.
It’s usually not until early May when I can finally battle back to my fighting weight, give or take a lingering pound. It takes a lot of huffing and puffing in exercise shorts and way too many no-nonsense salads.
My Seven-Pound War is ready to resume this week. Maybe I shouldn’t worry about it. It is what it is.
I write this as my wife prepares her Thanksgiving grocery list — one that I will have to try to decipher in the grocery aisles.
“Should we have an apple or blueberry pie to go along with the pumpkin?” she asks.
I think for a moment and then say, “Why not both?”
Seven more pounds await me. Why not just get it over with?
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My wife and I got married the evening before Thanksgiving all those years ago. After our one-night honeymoon, we were going to my Mom’s with the rest of the family for Thanksgiving dinner.
My wife realized a few hours before our wedding that she didn’t have french fried onions for the green bean casserole she was going to make the next morning and take to my Mom’s.
So with the biggest moment of my life looming (even bigger than when the Cubs won the World Series 40 years later), I was bumping into other frantic people in Martin’s supermarket trying to find the last item for the big meal.
It was utter chaos. Do you realize how hard it is to find a can of french fried onions in a massive store filled with last-minute shoppers. The check-out lines went back into the aisles and I still had to shine my shoes, knot my tie and find my composure before saying, “I do.”
Long story shorter: I got home and ready with more than a few minutes to spare … the wedding went without a hitch … my wife’s green bean casserole was outstanding … and married life continues to have those hectic times. I wouldn’t have it any other way, honey.
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When we sit down at our Thanksgiving table as a family, we will have one member of the Greatest Generation, two vegetarians, one gluten-free dieter, two other really finicky eaters, one agnostic, four Catholics, three 12-year-olds, one from the old country, at least one who voted for Trump, no White Sox fans and 15 who will hold hands for the prayer before we break bread.
Let’s eat.
Happy Thanksgiving all.