Back off, find your own party.

I’m good at imprisoning myself in my kitchen and making something both ridiculously good yet so bad for me.  I’ve got a routine for it too: I throw on my bum clothes, don my fleece socks, grab my laptop, and head to the kitchen to set up camp.  It’s not long before my hands are covered in egg goo, flour, and butter, while my laptop spins one of my “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” episodes.

Oh Uncle Phil, I love you, only you could understand our love for food.

But I’m no fool; I’m totally aware that if I bake something and it stays in my house, it’d only be a matter of weeks before I became a forerunner for the role of Violet Beauregarde after her three course chewing gum.

Don't they say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem?

The solution to my problem?  Parties.  It’s typically expected that at group events I can be counted on to bring something Anti-weight watchers.  These parties serve as my outlets for creativity, especially if there’s a theme for ’em, and frankly, they save my soul (and my waistline).

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