Come, Landlord, Fill the Flowing Bowl

Yeah, I might as well admit it. I had all those books for the cart outside the A.C. McClurg Bookstore stockpiled since about mid-September. But I waited until after Halloween to put them out, didn’t I? Shouldn’t I get a little credit?

Anyhow, I thought I would come clean before you notice and start complaining. I did stick with my own traditional November/December attitude in my book selections. Insofar as I was able to indulge it, I adhered the holiday theme of “Frankly I am the only one who understands how to celebrate this holiday properly the way you celebrate stinks in my nostrils and should not be allowed and if you insist on doing things your way you are unpatriotic, unattractive, uncooperative, and a silly old moo.” (By the way, I have seen editorials of this nature concerning Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, and New Year’s Eve. We really know how to party.)

Since it’s fashionable, then, I have indulged my personal holiday preferences to the hilt and if it offends you, that’s just the way it goes. I refer, of course, to the fact that you are not going to run into any holiday cookbooks that are low-fat or low-calorie on the carts unless somebody else sneaks ‘em in.

Every year I listen to serious talking heads on television intone, “This holiday season, the average American will consume seven times the number of calories recommended for a healthy diet.” And I cry, “You betcha! In fact, I’m going for twelve! Let’s raise the curve!”

So if you are on of those whose lifestyle includes skim egg nog, I’m afraid you’ll have to run to Border’s. We’re headed for winter, folks: you want to lay down a layer of protection from the chill. Thus theme on the bookstore carts at this time of year is chocolate, powdered sugar, granulated sugar, brown sugar, and enough butter to make Wisconsin the richest state in the nation.

And you don’t HAVE to try the recipes, after all. You can just LOOK. It’s not as if peeking into these books will make you convert overnight and become one of us who will gladly breakfast on sweet potato pie made with maple syrup (page 165; vanilla ice cream optional, it says. Ho ho ho.) We never ask you in July whether you’re going to use those cookbooks for anything besides late-night reading when the blinds are pulled down and the children are in bed. Why feel guilty about it in December?

Anyway, if we weren’t intended be gluttons in November and December, why do New Year’s Resolutions come right after? 

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