Saturday's Storyteller: "Christmas is over, but the cookies linger."
by Belinda Roddie
Christmas is over, but the cookies linger. Look, there are endless plates of them, tins brimming with goodies. Peppermint bark and flour-nosed dough. Ginger spice and apple cider infused treats. Egg nog bars and cinnamon swirls. Hazelnut triangles and halfway decent chocolate fudge. And of course, the frosting-clothed men and women who are devoured before they truly experience post-baked life.
We eat them, yet the supply seems to last forever. Even more arrive, to boot. We stare down fig bread and fruit biscuits and Santa-faced brioche with fresh strawberry and apricot jam. We massage our tongues in the set marmalade and let the shortbread melt like winter snow against our hot and frantic lips. Our teeth shiver from the subsequent bursts of sugar, as we quaff sprinkles on edible Christmas trees, snowflakes, ornaments, bells, and miniaturized Santas ill-prepared to face their digestible doom.
Everything is sweet. Everything is buttery. Everything is highly caloric.
And the candy. How could we forget about the candy?
But we are not afraid. In fact, we take on the Herculean task of devouring these desserts with vigor and enthusiasm. We ignore the nagging voices, warning us about stretching our waistlines and ignoring our "resolutions." Never mind the resolutions. Fuck the fat shamers. 'Tis the season for something delicious. And we shall bask in the deliciousness and remember to live a little in quiet solititude, as opposed to the noise of the holiday that has finally withered away.
And so we eat. We eat to fill ourselves with leftover spirit, and we eat because we love ourselves and our bodies just the way they are. The cookies shall slowly fade away - memories in our minds, hearts, and quaking stomachs. And we will wash down our so-called sins with tea, egg nog, and Irish cream.
Now this is the way to end a crazy year.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie.
Christmas is over, but the cookies linger. Look, there are endless plates of them, tins brimming with goodies. Peppermint bark and flour-nosed dough. Ginger spice and apple cider infused treats. Egg nog bars and cinnamon swirls. Hazelnut triangles and halfway decent chocolate fudge. And of course, the frosting-clothed men and women who are devoured before they truly experience post-baked life.
We eat them, yet the supply seems to last forever. Even more arrive, to boot. We stare down fig bread and fruit biscuits and Santa-faced brioche with fresh strawberry and apricot jam. We massage our tongues in the set marmalade and let the shortbread melt like winter snow against our hot and frantic lips. Our teeth shiver from the subsequent bursts of sugar, as we quaff sprinkles on edible Christmas trees, snowflakes, ornaments, bells, and miniaturized Santas ill-prepared to face their digestible doom.
Everything is sweet. Everything is buttery. Everything is highly caloric.
And the candy. How could we forget about the candy?
But we are not afraid. In fact, we take on the Herculean task of devouring these desserts with vigor and enthusiasm. We ignore the nagging voices, warning us about stretching our waistlines and ignoring our "resolutions." Never mind the resolutions. Fuck the fat shamers. 'Tis the season for something delicious. And we shall bask in the deliciousness and remember to live a little in quiet solititude, as opposed to the noise of the holiday that has finally withered away.
And so we eat. We eat to fill ourselves with leftover spirit, and we eat because we love ourselves and our bodies just the way they are. The cookies shall slowly fade away - memories in our minds, hearts, and quaking stomachs. And we will wash down our so-called sins with tea, egg nog, and Irish cream.
Now this is the way to end a crazy year.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie.
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