BookWenches

By Clea

On the 4th of July, I had Teagan and her family over for a barbque. I got all kinds of excited after she accepted the invitation and set about planning a menu. I had healthy options for her and me, as we are both still trying to lose weight; I had vegetarian options, in case her daughter changed her mind and decided to come over; and I had the unhealthy choices for everyone else. Then I went shopping and filled our fridge and pantry full of stuff.

By the time the big day arrived, I had most of the stuff prepped and ready to go. It wasn’t anything fancy – just burgers and dogs – but I believe in having lots of options. We had tons of stuff on the side: chips, dips, veggies sticks, potato salad (store bought, because I don’t need the temptation of homemade), fresh fruit salad, corn on the cob, watermelon and a green salad. Then for dessert, we had brownie muffins and strawberry shortcake. As I looked and noticed that every bit of counter space in my small kitchen was full, I realized that I did it again.

There were only seven of us that day, but I had enough food to feed fifteen at least. I do this every time we have company. For any big event (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Birthday parties) most of our budget goes towards food. I always find myself in a panic that there won’t be enough food, and I go way overboard. I am a big pusher also. I keep offering more and more food to everyone and feed them until they’re so full they want to burst.

I do it to my parents when they come up to visit. I am sure they must fast the week before, so they will be hungry when they come up because they know I am going to be shoveling the food down their throats all weekend long.

I did warn Teagan before she came over, but I don’t think she believed me as there was still a look of shock on her face when she saw all the food. Even as they were leaving, I was still trying to push food on them to take home. They practically ran out the door.

My husband and I didn’t have to cook at all for the rest of the week, because we lived off of the leftovers for lunch and dinner. Our oldest child started complaining that she was sick of burgers and dogs.

I don’t know why I do it, but I think that people won’t like me or think I am a good hostess unless they’re stuffed when they walk out the door. I think it’s a sickness and someone needs to stop me. I gotta tell my husband that he needs to reel me in a little bit. Maybe he’ll stage an intervention someday, but until then, bring your appetite next time you come to my place.