Mardi Gras

It feels like every day is Fat-One-Day-Or-Another around the office lately. First the holidays and then the Valentine’s Day dessert party, and today there are cookies. It’s like we can’t stop ourselves any more.

When the clock strikes 6, it’s time to transition to the evening vices. It’s beer o’clock! It’s the working person’s reward for cubicle cramp, mental malaise, the paltry palate of the live long work day. Beer, it’s not just for breakfast anymore, as the cute little refrigerator magnets say.

So here we are, Mardi Gras. Not being Catholic, not being from nor ever having been to New Orleans, I’ve never wholeheartedly celebrated either Mardi Gras or Lent. But this year, it feels like someone has to put her food down. Foot, I mean put her foot down. On something. Just one thing.

Either the sugar or the beer would hurt at one time of day or the other. Probably beer would hurt more, because it’s also a social activity, a reason to go out, an aid to conversation (up until a certain point, when it isn’t, of course). It provides an excuse to venture off to some new venue or neighborhood–an adventure!

Should “the giving up” be less painful, and therefore more likely to succeed? Or should the deprivation be more painful, making it more significant, and ¬†perhaps more thought-provoking?

If you were me, what would you give up?