Thing 256 Say Yes to Food

So there's no questions or accusations after; that's not my Christmas Dinner up there. My mam cooked a way better dinner than that nonsense. That's a stock photo. Secondly; remember when I told you that I was sick at Christmas? It all starts here...

I wanted to do a Christmas Day swim. Never done one before, wanted to make it my Thing. I pride myself on my swimming. I've swam in Kilkee trying to use an ironing board to surf at one in the morning in January. I've swam in November in Galway and had American tourists taking photos of me. I've been swimming in a storm. No fooling. A storm. I didn't realise that I have a line of reasonability. That line is chunks of frozen water sitting on the surface after a night of minus eight degrees. Who'd have guessed it? I have limits...

So I opted for a different tack. Christmas Day is all about food right? Well then; let's make the Thing all about the food as well. Everyone over eats on Christmas Day, it's the done Thing. But like me with swimming, most people have a reasonable line at which they stop. Namely just before they get sick. I decided to remove that line.

For Christmas Day I said only yes to food. If anyone offered me grub. It was my duty to say yes. Importantly, I couldn't tell them what was going on.

Mam: Daniel, are you having breakfast?

Me: Yes ma.

Mam: Make yourself a couple of bacon sandwiches there...

Me: Sure thing ma...

Easy. Couple of rasher sandwiches on Christmas Day. Nothing wrong with that.

Up with Puc It Out and Ci-Ci Do

Puc it Out: Well Maurice. Are you hungry?

Me: Not really. And it's only an hour to dinner...

PIO: Will you have a ham sandwich. That ham is mighty stuff...

Me: Sure. Sure. Where's the bread...

Hmmm. Filling up a little. It's only an hour and a half since the two rasher sandwiches. But wait, there's more. Five minutes later...

PIO: Dan, there's Taytos there if you fancy a Tayto sandwich..

Me: Hmmm.... ugh... sure. Sure. Pass the bread.

Good lord I'm full. Please let dinner not be done when I get home.

Less than an hour later, at dinner...

Mam: Daniel, you look like you're enjoying that, will you have a little more?

Me: Sure (eugh mam, why... I could burst...)

Mam: You'll have a bit of everything will you....

Me: Yes. Yes I will.

Ten minutes later, I'm pushing food around my plate, but determined to eat every morsel. Silently cursing the Project in my head. I'll never look at Christmas dinner the same again.

Mam: Wow. You're really enjoying that turkey. Another little bit.

Me: Sure ma. I'll have some more turkey.

Mam: And some stuffing and potatoes?

Me. Yep. Yep. A little more stuffing and potatoes.

I ate it all, sweating like a pig. My Da was looking at me like I'd gone out of my bosca altogether.

Me: I'm stuffed...

Mam: You've room for some trifle though, don't you?

Me: (Gags) Yes. I've room for trifle.

I thought I was going to die. So then there's the annual Christmas tradition of meeting up with Dr Frasier and The Canuck on Christmas Day. What I'd forgotten is that The Canuck and I invented the Christmas Sandwich the year before. And he was keen to go again...

Canuck: Christmas sandwich time?

Me: Hell yes (inside my head, a tiny voice begged for forgiveness...)

Five minutes later:

Dr Frasier: Are you going to eat those peanut M&M's?

Me: Yes. I am.

I fell asleep shortly afterwards. On the couch. Doctors will in years to come name this "Food Coma" and it'll be retrospectively named after me. I woke up on the couch in the early hours of the morning. Ran for the bathroom and I got to see dinners, and lunches and breakfasts and Christmas Sandwiches and trifle all over again. Awesome.

I think a little bit of me died that day. Stupid Project...

Still though. Awesome Christmas.