It started small, as most addictions do.
I’d see my guests take just a taste, and urged just a little more.
I’d watch with satisfaction as people took a second helping or a second piece.
I made sure to know their weaknesses, and was prepared with their favorite selections when they came over. I’d even deliver items to their homes.
And then, one day, I noticed some of my clients – er, guests – were pushing back.
“No, thank you. I’ve had enough.” Or, “It was delicious, but so filling.”
To which I’d respond: “Then I’ll send some home with you,” or, “Oh, just loosen your pants.”
They’ve turned on me, these people who once ate anything I gave them. They’ve conquered their addiction, and revealed my sorry position. Oh, yes. I confess. I push food.
My high comes from others eating what I have lovingly prepared. And yet, as we all tighten our belts in more ways than one, I realize I must stop pushing food on unsuspecting people. Friends who try to watch their weight. Friends who, dare I say, really didn’t like that particular flavor.
It’s especially hard over the holidays. We’re all entertaining and partying more, and I certainly don’t want the leftovers. (In fact, at a party just last night I handed the last plate of cookies to the custodian on my way out the door, saying, “You need these for your break.”)
If the pusher goes away, though, it’s harder for the addict to get his fix.
So, I’ve resolved to rehabilitate. When I have guests, the food will be offered but not urged. Seconds will still be there for the taking, but not forced. And instead of setting out a tray for Santa filled with every kind of cookie made this year, I’ll drop back to one or two with his glass of milk. I’ll reform.
My name is Kay. I am a food pusher. (So, can I get you something to eat?)