I

don’t know about you but I’ve got a fool proof plan to get through this year’s obligatory family Christmas dinner.

It starts with taking a good look around the dinner table.

I expect to see—or not see—the ghosts of Christmas’ past—my family members who didn’t make it to Christmas 2009 after passing away from diabetes related illnesses—this after going blind and having their legs amputated. I think the irony in that situation was that after the funeral we all came back to the house and ate the very same food that put said family members six feet underground to begin with…but I digressed.

Then I’ll set my gaze upon the ghosts of Christmas future, my overweight and damn near blind “but I’m gonna eat this sweet potato pie if it kills me” diabetic Aunt Joyce and my I’m almost 90 years old “let me eat what I want to eat” overweight diabetic grandmother.

If I am still feeling weak to the pressure of the honeybaked ham with a side of stroke or the I’m one step away from cardiac arrest macaroni and cheese, I’ll check in with the ghost of Christmas present. That simply involves me walking to the bathroom and jumping on the scale and being mortified that the numbers that pop back at me. If that doesn’t cure my overeating—nothing will.

Just call me the bitch who stole Christmas.