Back when I was a Weight Watchers leader, this was, of course, the hardest time of the year. Numbers at meetings dropped off like Enron's stock after the big announcement and the members who did show up had more excuses for gaining weight than Dolly Parton has wigs.
And every damn meeting our little program thingee that we were supposed to follow was all about how to "survive" the holidays without gaining weight.
It is possible, of course, but the strategies are so lame and almost impossible to follow. Eat a bowl of vegetable soup before you go to the party. (Is that before or after the pre-party martini?) Drink at least one glass of water between each drink. (How often do you really want to pull those panty-hose down to pee?) Go for the wine cooler rather than the Eggnog. (Are you kidding me?) Don't stand around the buffet table. (Then where? In the kitchen? The bathroom? The buffet table is where everyone IS.) Fill your plate mainly with raw vegetables and the fresh fruit. (That stuff is to eat? I thought it was for decoration.)
Etc.
It was pretty hopeless and we all knew it but we, the faithful, hung in there.
The dreaded holiday parties.
Well, I've found a new way to deal with those particular diet-busters. It is- have no social life and you won't get invited to any holiday parties!
This works well for me.
Seriously- I have not been invited to one. Well, okay, I have been invited to TWO solstice parties but I have rehearsal that night.
The place where Mr. Moon has his office used to have a big old holiday party. They threw a wingdinger. People dressed up, they rented a nice place, there was a sit-down meal, alcohol flowed freely, there were door prizes and bonuses were passed out and if you were lucky, you could take the centerpiece home!
Awesome!
Now they have a lunch catered at the office. From Moe's. Do you have Moe's? I like Moe's fine but that's a real come-down from a holiday party with a DJ and open bar. Plus, I wasn't even invited to the Moe's lunch. Didn't even get a damn free burrito.
And the hunting club Mr. Moon belongs to had a pot-luck last Saturday night after hunting hours. I was invited to that.
No. I did not go. I did make chili to send. I did my part. I hear I missed a few buckets of fried chicken and that does make me sad but so be it. Prairie Home Companion was on.
And that's it for my social calender this year. I know I should be embarrassed for having such a pathetic life. It's CHRISTMAS! Even dog catchers have a damn office party.
I guess.
But housewives do not and if my friends are having Christmas parties, they have not invited me, with the sweet exceptions of the solstice parties.
But you know what? I am not embarrassed. I am, quite frankly, relieved.
I do not have to figure out an outfit to wear to a party. This means- no BRA! Also, no tears as I try to fit myself into something that I may have worn with easy glory just a few years ago. I don't have to buy any fancy stockings. No fishnets, no glitter-down-the-side black hose. I don't have to wear heels. I do not have to do my hair and make-up.
Nope. I can just stay at home and wear my overalls. Scratch my butt if I want to. (That was for you, Mwa.)
I can eat my own food. I will not be tempted by tiny quiches or rare roast beef or fancy cheeses or baskets of bread. I will not have eggnog presented to me. Nor will there be little brownies with red sugar-glitter or chocolate-covered anything. Or even sugar cookies with icing. Or, or, or...
Hell. It's been so damn long since I went to a Christmas party I can't even remember what they fucking eat at those things.
It was fancy, though, as I recall.
Those Weight Watcher sermons would be lost on me.
So for all of you who are having to experience the torture of one beautiful, glittery party after another this season with all of the temptations and fuss of having to get ready and be beautiful, I say to you-
DAMN!
Sounds like fun.
Enjoy yourself for me, will you? Wear something in red and satin and cut down to your dadgum low-cut bra that pushes those puppies up like little cupcakes on a platter. Enjoy the cold snuggle next to your man as you walk from your car to the warm, brightly lit room where people you know and possibly even like wait with drinks in hand and smile with great, good holiday cheer as you enter the room. Don't fill up your plate with raw vegetables and fresh fruit. Unless it's pineapple. Then it's okay. Pineapple is always delightful. Eat chocolate and lots of things gooey with cheese and buttery crust and laugh and giggle and flirt and put your hand in your man's pocket, either front or back, depending on your mood.
Drink one too many.
Dance. If your shoes get to hurting, take 'em off and dance until those twenty-dollar hose have holes in them.
Because I won't be doing any of those things.
And it's okay! It is! I won't have any of the next-day regret. The Oh My God, what did I SAY to that man (woman, boss)??!! regret.
The hangovers, both of food and strong drink will not be mine. There will be no heartburn.
The expensive clothes which need to go the cleaners, the lost gloves and hats- no- they will not be my problem.
Nope. I'll just be right here in Lloyd, taking pictures of birds eating roaches, cleaning out my chicken's nests, learning my lines, playing with Owen.
So- I am giving you full permission to take at least one thing that happens at those parties which you may have a tiny bit of regret for the next day and you can just hand it off to me.
Say to yourself, "I did that for Ms. Moon!"
And I'll take it on my own blameless shoulders and I'll carry it for you and you can go on, head high and happy.
But you have to tell me about it for it to work. I want to KNOW what I'm taking on.
And I don't do drunk driving and I don't do making-out with people I shouldn't be in out-of-the-way places. (Kisses under mistletoe are the exception here.) Oh- and I do not eat that worm in the bottle of tequila bottles. (People probably don't do that anymore, do they?)
So have a designated driver or call a taxi and dance with the one that brung ya.
And have fun.
Do it for me.
I'd do it for you!
And then let me know all about it. Tell Ms. Moon. Full descriptions.
I am waiting with bated breath. In my overalls. With no bra on.
And no excuse not to gain weight.
Taking pictures of birds eating roaches. Reading the New Yorker. Ecstatic at the idea of having clean sheets. Perfectly content with going to bed at a reasonable hour while all the world is up partying.
And I'm fine with that! Really! I am!
(Wear bright red lipstick. Please. For me.)
Happy holidays. Now go have fun.
Love...Ms. Moon
(P.S. You know damn well that if I WAS going to a party or parties, I would be bitching up a storm. And that's the truth. I'd be moaning and complaining and I'd be awkward at them and say things that offended Christians. I know this for a fact. I still blush at the memory.)
