A very bloated four day weekend...

Too. Much. Food. And I didn't even have a bite of turkey! I did, I'm afraid, eat enough potatoes to make it a very holly-jolly-Christmas for some potato farmers in Idaho. I also had three slices of pecan pie, two bottles of Pinot, and an entire vegetarian pizza over the course of the weekend.

I did, however, have a wake up call. In the form of picking up my wedding dress. The good news? I could gain a good 30 pounds in my bra and it would still fit. The bad news? The ass section looks like sausage casing. Let me tell you, it's every little girls dream to take their wedding gown to the alterations lady and say, "Take the bra in a good 9 inches, and take the ass out 3." Ahh, the blessings of being a pear shape.

Now it's Sunday night and I'm trying to decide. Decide if I need to attempt to take off 10 pounds during the Christmas season in order to save $50 in alterations. I hate the fact that I let society dictate how I feel about my body. I'm in great shape. I'm strong and flexible thanks to years of sports growing up and yoga classes. I eat healthy (except on any holidays, obviously. I gave that pecan pie the business.) Yet, because I'm not a perfect size 2, I mentally berate myself. I've declared carbohydrates The Enemy. Since when should anyone be afraid of pasta?

As far as I'm concerned, pasta is scarier than a Sarah Palin book signing. (I'm sorry, my Italian friends, for comparing pasta to Sarah Palin.) I blame society for my neurosis. And you know what? I want to thank Thanksgiving for allowing me to let down my guard for a few minutes to eat without shame. Thank you Thanksgiving, it's a damn shame you only come around once a year.