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Holiday tip: Stay away from red!
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I was about to give you a list of healthy eating tips to memorize and apply before you head out for a holiday party. But then I ran across this hysterical tip, and I couldn't resist playing with it. I found the following information in several places; I swear I'm not making it up! Here it is:
Avoid the color red, as it increases appetite.
So, yes, let's play with this. Let's see what could happen if I took this red thing seriously.
Okay, so I'm about to go to my neighbor's party. But first I must call to find out her color scheme. "Hi, Mary. I'd love to come to your party, but I really need to know whether your walls or furniture contain any red."
Mary doesn't hesitate. "Oh, there's a little red in the rug, but we're pretty beige.
Thank god. A little rug red never hurt anyone. I won't look down. That will work; the floor will be flat, so I probably won't trip. They don't have any toddlers so I don't have to worry about falling over toys. And maintaining eye contact at a party is always a good thing. If I do accidentally look down at the rug, I know I risk racing over to the plate of cookies. I weigh that risk and decide I can handle it.
But the next words out of Mary's mouth complicate matters. "But we do have quite a few poinsettias. It IS Christmas, after all."
My first impulse is to ask her to please remove them. To tell her I just can't risk being around red. Yes, yes, I know it's Christmas, but I must not stimulate my taste buds, I must not! It's a matter of health, after all.
No, I won't say that. She'll think I'm nuts. And besides, it's her house, her flowers, her party.
I come up with a plan and lie through my teeth. "Hm, you know what? I happen to be allergic to poinsettias. Is there any way you could put them in the closet or put them out on your back porch while I'm there? Otherwise, I might sneeze a lot and scare off your other guests who wonder why you invited a person with a highly contagious cold." It's blackmail, sort of. I know it. And no, I'm not particularly proud of it.
I get carried away before she can answer. "Or, occasionally, I end up in the emergency room with a severe allergic reaction. I don't want to bring over my Epi pen." (I just learned that people with severe allergies carry a syringe around so they can shoot up the life-saving drug, epinephrine, if they end up in an allergic emergency.) I figure I sound pretty serious. She's got to buy it. I'm just hoping she forgets about my earlier red questions.
Mary does hesitate this time. She is thinking of her 6 big, beautiful poinsettias that she now has to hide because one of her guests is allergic? Please! She has just watered them all, and now she has to put them in a closet. Or outside, where they will die a cold and ruthless death. Where will she find a closet that has room for 6 drippy and delicate poinsettias? She thinks of her spare bathroom, but then realizes that I might end up there. She suddenly has a huge problem on her hands. Just because she bought those stupid flowers. Just because she has an allergic neighbor.
What would she think if she knew the truth? That I'm making her remove red so that I don't go off my food wagon? Just how far do you go for a neighbor?
Mary rises to the challenge; or rather, she gives in because it's the right thing to do. "Well, I suppose I could remove them. I don't know if we can fit all the poinsettias in our cluttered closets, but we'll find a place out of sight, absolutely. We don't want you to suffer an attack of any sort."
I thank her profusely and get ready for the party. I wear black everything and realize I look like I'm heading to a funeral. But I'm thinking that if red stimulates appetite, perhaps black represses it. I need all the help I can get.
I arrive at Mary's house, with my plate of chopped carrots, celery, and broccoli in hand. I ring the doorbell. I'm excited that red won't be happening. No red walls, red chairs, or red flowers. It will be a safe and healthy haven.
She answers the door. Her exquisite all-red dress is glaring me in the face. I'm a food junkie trapped in a red zone like a reformed boozer trapped in a bar.
I close my eyes to avoid any possible red contamination, and then realize that Mary will find that an odd thing to do, so I look away from her. I know I look paranoid; it looks like I'm checking for thieves about to jump me for my broccoli florets. In my little suburban neighborhood. Sure.
But I want to avoid red at all costs. I think about running back to my house as fast as I can, but Mary will definitely think I'm a nut if I do that. I consider telling her, while I'm still looking away from her, that I suddenly feel ill and must return home. I'll leave her my plate of veggies; a peace offering for my bizarre behavior.
But enough is enough. I look straight at her, taking in the red like I'm drinking some fat-free, sugar-free eggnog. I momentarily feel bad about the quarantined poinsettias, squished and drippy, holed up in some overstuffed closet.
I walk in and hope for the best. I'm entering the red zone with my blue eyes wide open. Hell, I'll even look down at the slightly red rug if I want. I can handle red. Without being fed. Really. I'm ready to test this red theory right now. Bring it on!
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