Dear Carbs: Wish me a Merry Christmas

Image by markpayne via Flickr

Dear Carbs:

About Thanksgiving. Yes. The stuffing was delicious. Yes. The homemade sweet potato pie with the crumbly, buttery crust that could only have been made by the fluttering of wings by little baby angels was excellent.

I admit that, after all this time, it was nice to sit down at the table with you. You are looking good. Very fluffy. And it's nice to see you looking so happy. I can see you've moved on. Good for you. I'm glad. No. Really. I'm the one who broke it off, after all.

Still, I'm a little hurt. I really mourned you, and now I see that you just didn't care. I was a bauble to you, a jolly round bauble. When I was drowning my sorrows in god-forsaken CHICKEN, you were shipping off chocolate Santas and candy canes and caramels and bon bons and peppermint bark. You were stripping the poor Williams Sonoma catalog of all its respectability and sleazing it full of food porn. You were smacking Paula Deen with hams. You were creating these.

You're ruthless. You know that? Ruthless? But, try as I may, I just can't quit you.