I grew up in the sort of community where the entire month of December was dedicated to giving and receiving Christmas goodies with the neighbors. Sometimes I miss the connection of having lots of people to share with, but these days I daren’t risk offending anyone by putting both gluten and sugar in the center of their awareness — I’d never hear the end of it.
Besides, the Mormons already dislike (hate?) me enormously, and giving out treats would only make it worse. I hold the honored distinction of having been lectured by them for being too old fashioned, and that was before I discovered the joys of spinning and weaving. It’s one of those situations where there’s no possible way of winning, so it’s better to pretend they don’t exist.
The culture I grew up in is dead.
Everyone was quick to trade it in for social media dieting trends, so it wasn’t worth that much to begin with.
I’m the sort that lives life on my own terms, so I don’t sit around feeling helpless over small things. I make plenty of Christmas desserts for ourselves, full of gluten, sugar, and fat — all of those naughty things people tut-tut over. We’re happy, and that’s what matters.
(We’re also healthier and more energetic than those on restrictive diets, but we don’t talk about that)
I hope that my children grow up into a better world, but in the off-chance that it doesn’t improve, we’ll still have each other.