I can't even begin to tell you how much I love you. You are the reason for our livelihood, and most of the reason Jack stays sane at work most days. He wouldn't have stayed with it as long as he has if it wasn't for you. He absolutely adores each and every one of you, and talks my ear off about you every single day. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that - that one's a talker.
Having said that, I have to plead with you, beg with you, this Christmas season. For the love of all that is holy, please don't send him home with entire gallon-sized bags, paper plates, or holiday tins full of delicious goodies.
It's not that they're bad.
The snickerdoodles, the hand-frosted santa-shaped sugar cookies, the red and white m&ms, and the chocolate-covered pretzels. Oh my cow. It's all. so. good.
But the sheer volume of calories? It's a problem for me.
And Jack has self-control. He can have all of that in our house and enjoy it like a normal adult does, without plunging face-first into the giant pile of cookies, all "NOM NOM NOM GIVE ME MORE COOOKIIIEEEEEE!"
One time, he had an unopened package of chewy Chips Ahoy cookies in our pantry for a good week and a half before he even opened them. I MEAN, WHO DOES THAT?
But me? Well, I'm different.
The chewy Chips Ahoy cookies are lucky if they stay unopened in the grocery store parking lot with me. In fact, that little "not opening his cookies" stunt was how he learned that he would literally have to hide food from me in order to keep it around.
I spend a vast majority of my time thinking about food. And 80% of that time thinking about food is spent thinking about sweets. I don't have that mechanism most people have that makes sweets unappealing after they have too much. I mean, I might, but it comes in the form of nausea after having eaten enough to need a good stomach pumping.
I don't keep sweets out of my house for any snobbish health reasons. I do it because if I don't, I WILL LITERALLY EAT MYSELF TO DEATH ON THEM.
So when that amount of sweets come into my house in the form of gifts? I don't have to tell you that it's a problem. Jack wakes up in the middle of the night to find that I'm not next to him in bed. He stumbles to the kitchen and flips on the light to find me huddled in the corner on the floor, licking the inside of a holiday-themed-tin, covered in chocolate and powdered sugar after having single-handedly inhaled a pound of puppy chow.
It's not a pretty picture, is it?
So please, Taekwondo students, I beg of you. Just give him one cookie. He'll appreciate it just as much as the dozen, I promise. Probably more, since he won't have to buy his wife giant new pants as a result.
Or, okay, maybe give him two cookies. Because after writing this, I'm really craving cookies. Yeah. Give us lots of cookies. Never mind all that stuff I just said. I need cookies NOW NOW NOW!!
On second thought, maybe you should just give him a card.