Aftermath

Mentioning no names, someone within the sound of my voice--someone within the sound of my brain, actually--is going to have to get reacquainted with her NordicTrak, and right quick. The sad thing is, we still have tons of cookies left, plus half a squash pie.

I'm just grateful that the scale is upstairs, and I'm still showering downstairs so I don't get on it anymore.

Here's why I am girth-enhanced:

First, a tableful of good cooks, replete with each other's bounty, yukking it up in the postprandial segment of our neighborhood Christmas feast. There were 13 of us for dinner, 17 for dessert, at Cope's and Greg's house. That's Cope at the end of the table in blue, next to Rob. I decided not to use the previous shot, which was better in some respects except that Rob was flipping the bird at the photographer. Ah, forever young.

Nancy and Viv serve pie, while Tim and Greg salivate.

The young-uns plus Greg, whose wonderful daughter Golda is on the right. Also in the photo are Andrew and Luke (seated) and Josh, Golda's estimable partner.

And finally, in the true Christmas spirit, Cope and I blur out. (Boy, do I need a haircut.)