Boxes O' Goodness

So, peeps, have you ever, as I have, been perusing that Harry and David catalog that mysteriously appears in your mailbox sometime in November and thought to yourself Dang, those tower things sound so freakin' awesome! Food delivered to your door gorgeously wrapped in boxes of varying size, each one with its own air of mystery and suspense, revealing delicious treats inside... ugh, those seven deadly sins and that one about gluttony! at which point you put down your credit card and sigh as you resist ordering one for yourself? Well, I have, and if you have... then I am sooooooooo much luckier than you today. Guess what got delivered to the door of my little hovel? That's riiiight! I must admit that I was a bit anxious as I ripped open the box with complete abandon. Deep in the recesses of my soul, I harbored fear that this package contained only a box of apples or pears or some of that other s**t that's good for you. But, ho no! Apparently, my brother and sister-in-law, despite my recent loss of Lane Bryant fashion, know that, deep in the cockles of my rapidly-approaching-cardiac-arrest heart, I am still a gluttonous b***h with no self-control. I love them. And, before you ask, this gift was so obviously bought with me in mind and so totally not Alex. I mean, c'mon. This is a man who once said, "Ruth's Chris...Sonic...they're both really good." Need I say more? And I must admit that there was some trepidation that, if indeed concealed in this cardboard cloaked nirvana there was a Tower of Treats, the packaging would, in no way, be as lovely and binge-inducing as portrayed in the catalog. But...

And the angels sang!

Therefore, today's agenda consists of going to the gym and walking, walking, walking until my legs feel as though they will fall off or I have reached the thousands-of-calories-burned mark on the treadmill, then coming home and opening one box every hour on the hour and tasting the yummy goodness that I am certain it contains. Then I will lie on my couch watching re-runs of Take Home Chef and await the diabetic coma, coronary arrest, or bolt of lightning that I so richly deserve. And it will so have been worth it. If I, unfortunately, happen not to survive this outright flauting of one of the seven deadlies, just be sure I am like one of those Egyptian pharaohs and buried with a Tower of Treats to take with me into the afterlife. Playing the odds, no matter where I end up, I bet God and Satan have been waiting for one of these for years, just like me.