Snub The Chub

The holidays are over, the Santa cookies have all been digested, and the small cubes of fudge that are still on my counter are stragglers, because Auntie Honey shipped her signature confection a little late this year. It won’t last long.

That fudge is the last remnant of holiday culinary excess, and my final excuse for maintaining a growing case of the chubbies. Yes, I am getting chubby. I always get chubby at the holidays, no matter how often I tell myself I will be noble and refuse all goodies. It goes right down the tubes when the macadamia nut cake appears at the table. Who wants to be noble around macadamia nut cake?

Not I, said the little red hen.

For most of us, the holiday feasting kicks off at Thanksgiving and doesn’t skid to a halt until January 2nd. Since this holiday black hole of munching comes around every year, one would think I would have ample time to prepare and defend against overeating. To my credit, I do try. Every year I have the same conversation with myself while I’m chopping and dicing, kneading and marinating, and all that kitchen stuff required for a successful gorge-o-rama. See if this sounds familiar:

“Mmm…this smells good. I won’t eat too much, though. I’ll cut my portions in half. I’ll eat from a smaller plate. I won’t eat the turkey skin this year or add extra butter to the mashed potatoes. I will not eat Christmas cookies or sample Linda’s nut roll, or taste Carrie’s caramel turtles. I will not, under any circumstances, have more than one piece of Auntie Honey’s fudge in a single 24-hour period. I will not have the chubbies this year!”

Yeah, right. And Hillary doesn’t salivate when she hears the words “oval” and “office” in the same sentence.

However, in spite of all my declarations of moderation, all of my good intentions are tossed down the garbage disposal the first second after the family’s collective “amen” at the end of our Thanksgiving dinner grace. No extra butter on the taters? Ha! Adding my name to the ranks of the Foreign Legion is more likely.

Of course, extra butter on the taters is just greasing the slide that leads into the pit of gingerbread house candy and dark chocolate kisses. These lead to extra chub everywhere else, and by the time I’m warbling Old Lang Syne I’ve packed on the usual holiday poundage.

What to do?

My friends know the answer to this question: count points. I’ve expounded on the risks and virtues of this before. For anyone who knows what this means, I’ll just say, “Water and carrots are zero!” and leave it at that.

The point is that for all of us who overindulge, there is a diet waiting at the beginning of the bright, new year. Of course, not everyone counts points like I do. There are many other choices: Atkins, South Beach, Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Cabbage Soup diet, Apple Cider Vinegar diet, Grapefruit, Zone, Negative Calorie, and FatLoss4Idiots.

Yes, each of these diets does exist, including FatLoss4Idiots. I did not venture into the website. The name alone sent me scurrying back to Weight Watchers and my oh-so-type-A sliding points calculator. I never leave home without it.

There are so many options for dumping the holiday pounds. It makes one’s head spin (and don’t you just wonder how many calories that head-spinning thing would burn if you could manage it for real?)

So pick your poison, folks, or learn to Love the Chub.

I wish that Love the Chub could be my motto, but even though having a devil-may-care attitude is kind of cool, I never learned to actually, you know, love my chub. I feel better when I fit into my jeans without that pesky middle-aged roll hanging over the waistband.

If only losing weight were as easy as all those people who populate the January and February magazines try to convince me it is. I do not believe that jogging for an hour after a long day at work, followed up with a dinner of salad and anemic chicken is fun stuff. Who can look forward to a dinner like that, especially after a run? Heck, if I run for an hour I want something more substantial than skinless Chicken Little and a few root vegetables. I’m with Marie Antoinette on this one: “Let them eat cake!”

Embracing the wide load is not a healthy choice. I know that. So I’ll do it. I will not Love the Chub. I will diet. I’ll drop those pounds, and will strive to look good in a bathing suit by June. Well, as much as a 47-year-old mother of three can look good in a tankini.

Maybe I should set my sights a little lower. Instead of aiming for the tankini I’ll set my goal at looking good stuffed into a pair of walking shorts. Walking shorts are kind of long, which means they hide the chub as well as those pesky old spider veins. That’s a sensible two-fer, and I’m a sensible woman. Walking shorts it is!

Whew! After all that pondering about dieting and learning to embrace my imperfect self, I’m exhausted. I think I need fudge . . . but I promise to count the points, so that makes it a good life choice.

I also need a new motto. I think I’ll go with Snub the Chub. It isn’t as carefree as its predecessor, but it will guide me on the path to a new pair of walking shorts, or maybe even a tankini. We’ll have to see just how much chub snubbing I can do between now and summer.

Pick your diet, munch your carrot, and be proud to Snub the Chub!