Post-Prandial

Oof.

I don't know about you, dear Reader, but these Thanksgiving frivolities have rendered me exhausted. Dog tired, worn out, played out, spent -- and sadly, way too close to an appearance that can best be described as zaftig. Honestly, if your dining experience was anything like mine, the last thing you want to contemplate is how to make another pie. I don't even want to imagine eating pie for a while.

Heresy, I know.

So we'll just take a little rest this week. Then we'll munch on celery sticks and grape nuts and apples. We'll drink lots of water and get some exercise and use positive imagery to envision the svelte new selves that our virtuous lifestyle will afford us. We'll even (briefly, thank God) consider that radical Calorie Restriction Diet that would allow us to live long, albeit unhappy, lives.

And we won't be the least bit tempted by the leftover slices of pumpkin, apple crumb, chocolate pecan, and pomegranate pear pies that are right there on the counter at this very moment .

We won't allow ourselves to consider what a fine breakfast a wedge of pie paired with a cup of coffee makes. Or how a tiny sliver of pie and a glass of ice cold milk is The Perfect Snack. Or even how a bit of fruit-sweetened crust is just hovering there forlornly along the side of the plate and begging to be nibbled at.

No, really, we won't allow any of that.

No, really, we . . .