I'm going to end up with diabetes, if I don't die first

Christmas isn’t about Jesus. Oh no. (Ignoring the fact that Jesus was born in MARCH).

Christmas isn’t even about Santa anymore. Or about presents or good cheer or any of that happy horse puckey.

Didn’t you know?

Christmas is about the CANDY.

My god, the candy.

There’s chocolates and candy canes, starlight peppermints, toffees, taffys, pralines, peppermint bark, almond roca and I could go on and on.

At work, at Halloween, I provided my team (and really, the entire department) with a bucket of candy. I figured, being  Christmas, I would provide the same. So there’s a Christmas-type bowl sitting on the table at work and I can’t help but pick from it. Let’s not forget the candy canes I bought to put in the hot chocolate I’ve suddenly become obsessed with drinking. (I’m convinced it’s the super-awesome mug I bought from Starbucks).

This is bad because I’m not a big candy person. I don’t really have a sweet tooth at all and I’m definitely not a picker. So I’ve been picking at this candy and then I get home and don’t want to eat.

And pizza is so much healthier for me.

By the time Christmas is over, I’m going to weigh a gajillion pounds.

And let’s not forget the diabetic coma.