It's Christmas! Time to wrestle your way up to the trough!

My mom makes the best pumpkin pie ever. It's so good, in fact, that one year I watched my brother eat one all by himself in just one sitting. He grabbed a fork, sat down on the couch and started to shovel, just like he had in his driveway that very same morning.

I, on the other hand, am not such a lover of fine pies. My weapons of choice are the green frosted Christmas tree cookies that she whips up each year without fail. *Sigh* *Dreamy smiles* Oh, I can already taste them now, that frosted blend of whipped processed sugar, coating the first layer of enamel on my pearly white teeth. "Ahhh, it's Christmas time... Otherwise known as feast or famine!

My husband has a bad habit of eating in a hurry; like a soldier after being released from captivity. It drives me crazy the way he clangs his fork as if rehearsing for Isla's wedding toast. *Cling* *Clang* So I tell him to "Slow down! No one is going to steal your food!" But he keeps on going until every last morsel is cleared off his plate. Then I ask him why. I say, "Why do you have to eat like it's the last supper?" And although clearly annoyed, he looks up at me and tells me his reasoning, "When we were kids, my brother would tell me that the one who eats the fastest, gets the most food–and he was always the fastest! If we ordered a pizza, I'd be lucky to get one piece!" 

I guess it's the same in all families, especially when it comes to the holidays. And if you want a cookie at MY house, you'd better either be really fast or really effing sneaky, because daddy isn't afraid to take the last bite (and neither are we)! 



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