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Oatmeal for breakfast, whole grain breads, salad, chicken, tuna, salmon...
We know what to do.
It's not like we are snacking on pork sausage and Prosciutto ham all day long.
We don't buy beef jerky at the Hess station.
It's not the bad food that trips us up, it's the good desserts.
Especially when dining out at a nice restaurant.
What's incomprehensible to me is the idea of having a fantastic dinner without dessert.
It finalizes the whole process.
OK, I can walk away from the dinner table now, I've had the cannoli.
Yes, dinner is now complete I've ordered the double fudge Oreo mud slide brownie sensation.
Hooray! As we near the end of an appetizer, our minds start thinking about dessert possibilities.
Yes, so soon.
Sometimes even while being seated or while passing other people's desserts.
Call it naughty by nature, but I'm down with OPD, yeah you know me! Each and every time my eyes light up when someone just so as inquires about dessert.
We become nearly childlike when they wheel out the dessert cart with viewable samples--be they plastic or edible--the thrill is always there.
If we happen to like the dessert or not, it can still be found stunning; a work of art, like a Picasso that needs to be stared at a good long time.
I never cease to oohh and aahh..
..
like I'm seeing a fireworks display at Disney.
By the end of a good meal, we are stuffed.
So stuffed we sometimes need to unbutton the trousers and sigh, like Uncle Louie at the Thanksgiving table.
But, as we know all too well, one button sometimes isn't enough.
You've got to unzip if you want to make room for tartufo! So what, we entered the room a size fourteen and we are leaving a size sixteen? So what, we can't fit into our old underwear which are growing ever increasingly tight? So what, our ankles are bloated and we feel slightly nauseous? That does not prevent us from fantasizing about a puffed pastry.
Then the waitress with a sparkling smile asks the age old question, "Would you like to see a dessert menu?" Suddenly we become reinvigorated.
There is new born room in our pants.
Yes, I believe Bill Cosby is right.
There is always room for jello...
or cheesecake..
..
or peach cobbler or sweet potato pie.
I always did like that guy.
So, we order dessert from the sparkling toothed waitress.
We eat it.
All.
We're in love (with the dessert, that is).
Love turns to hate as guilt seeps in.
The next day we eat right, work out harder, run an extra mile or two.
But indubitably dinner time comes around again that night, as it has done every night before.
And we find ourselves thinking-hmm, I wonder what's for dessert.
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