There’s this thing I like to call, “The Birthday Cycle of Shame.”
It happens every year and it all starts around November, three months before my glorious day of birth (I’ve been petitioning for years to have it named a national holiday, but those government schmos just don’t seem to get the importance). The impending gluttonous glory of Thanksgiving inevitably gets me thinking something along the lines of, “FOOOOOOOOD! HOLIDAY ALL ABOUT FOOOOOOOOD!” and because I am the kind of person who takes the phrase “consumption overkill” (which I’m pretty sure is something I just made up – spread the word, guys!) to a whole new level, the genius of such a holiday will get me thinking about the next day-long – and sometimes weekend-long – excuse I have to eat my entire weight in fried stuff, cheesy stuff, and chocolate (Jayne’s Three Basic Food Groups for Optimal Survival in the Modern World): My birthday.
“I WILL HAVE A TEN LAYER CHOCOLATE CAKE!” I’ll think wildly, grinning like a fool with gluttonous glee. “AND THERE WILL BE A MAC N CHEESE FOUNTAIN!” And then, after months of texting T all kinds of increasingly fanatical ideas like this, I’ll finally hit my birthday month. And that’s when this feeling of impending doom starts.