As I drove home from Thanksgiving dinner at Suzanne's house tonight, I was wondering why I felt so overly full. I only had one helping of everything, and nothing was really heavy. They were pretty big helpings, and I didn't leave anything on my plate because it was all so good. But I don't think that was the problem.
It probably wasn't necessary for me to eat two desserts, but nobody else wanted to try the pumpkin pie. It was a little soft in the middle and a lot of experimentation went on, trying to make it firmer. It was in and out of the oven and the refrigerator more than once, and even then it had a little brown lake in the middle. (Mmm, that does sound good. Makes me wonder why I didn't have seconds.)
After pie, there was lemon cake. I'm pretty sure I only had one piece, though. I can't say the same about how many glasses of wine I drank. More than one, less than five, but strung out over the whole afternoon and evening. Right up until time for Kahlua and coffee.
When I lay it all out like that, it sounds as if I was eating and drinking all day long. Hmm, maybe that's why I could hardly waddle out to the car. I couldn't eat (and drink) like this every day, even if I wanted to. And I wouldn't want to, unless I had such good company as I had today.
It was just the family most of the time, with friends dropping by from time to time, exactly the way a holiday should be celebrated. I never laugh as much as when I'm with this special group of people. It's the shared history, and it's the fact that we've grown up and grown older together. If I could have this good feeling every day, I wouldn't care how much I ate and drank.
I might care tomorrow morning, though.