Fiddich Review Centre


By Burton W. Cole, Columnist

It’s the most annoying time of the year. With kids jingle-belling and everyone telling you, “Eat another one. It’s Christmas!”

Yes, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas parties. Everywhere you turn, someone is offering you cookies or fudge or cake (fruit or otherwise) or bread or any other of a myriad of high-caloric Christmas cheer.

Oh, wait, not, that’s not the annoying part. I harbor absolutely no objection to this delicious spirit of caring and sharing. I don’t even find anything wrong with a person baking a whole bunch of those snowman cookies with those tiny, silver BB eyes that are supposed to be candy but can chip a tooth — just as long as the BB bakers don’t forget the “snow (sugar)-covered” brownies or those pyramid cookies with the big candy kisses or peanut butter cups baked inside.

I have encouraged this behavior many times myself by never turning down these heartfelt gestures. It wouldn’t be polite to refuse.

The annoying part of the year is having to listen to all the skinny people moaning and complaining about getting fat. Those of us whose round little bellies shake like bowls full of jelly say, “Ho, ho, ho and shut up!”

“Oh my, another plate of peanut butter fudge,” a skinny person will lament. “I’m getting to be such a porker. I won’t be able to eat at all in January to take all this weight off.”

As far as we normal people can tell, all that weight amounts to about three ounces — which all rests in her tiny but thickly padded Christmas sweater.

And it doesn’t matter how small the iced Christmas tree cookie — the skinny person will always break it in half. “Just a taste,” slimbo will say in that skinny little voice.

This is why we people of substance cannot regulate holiday snacking. Our OCD sweet tooth hates to leave a fudge tray so untidy as to let scraps clutter it up for the next person at the trough. So we graciously clean up all the halves. In the spirit of the holidays.

It’s about that time that the skinny person, nibbling on his or her 37th “just a bite,” will say, “Yipes, what’s that long sliver of black thread following me?”

“Your shadow.”

“I’ve never had one of those before. Does it contain any cholesterol?”

A svelte co-worker brought a delicious chocolate cake with peppermint icing into the office. “It’s my special strategy,” she cooed. “I’m trying to fatten all of you up so I don’t look so hefty.”

“Mmggppppa!” one of my other co-workers spit through stuffed cheeks. “You’re already the smallest person here.”

“Hey, the clothes don’t lie,” she said. “If your clothes don’t fit, you’re getting fat.”

It’s the Thanksgiving-Hanukkah-Christmas-Kwanzaa-Eternal Leftovers feasting season, for crying out loud. Ask Santa bring you new clothes. With drawstrings and flexible waistbands.

Besides, we all need a little more insulation against the winter cold. That way, we can turn down our thermostats, conserve energy and save the environment.

That’s right, it is our constitutional duty to inhale every last lick of Christmas goodies.

So all you skinny people, save our natural resources and belly up to the buckeyes and gingerbread bar with the rest of us. We folks of magnitude will meet you at the salad bar in January.

Oh, and wear your brand new “comfy” clothes. You know we will.


Snack with Burt at or the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.


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