“Potluck” is a 4-letter word. Er, 7-letter word. Whatever. It’s a bad word.
(So is “buffet”. And “Nutella”. But I digress.)
Any time someone leaves their position in my office, we have a potluck. I think it’s a wonderful way to get everyone together at work. I also think it’s a wonderful way for Liz to come back for 16 helpings of spinach and artichoke dip. My co-workers are SUCH GOOD COOKS – which used to be the best thing ever, and now I just want them all to STOP COOKING. Just so you have an idea, this was the kitchen after the Potluck:
So. Much. Food. If you look to the far left, you will see the veggie tray that I brought. Crudités betta RECOGNIZE.
Are you ready for what I ate out of ALLLL that good food that was there?
1/4 of a slice of cranberry orange bread. The end.
I’m fairly certain this is only due to the fact that I had brought my own lunch. If I had not brought something else to eat, it could have been a TOTAL disaster. I mean, I’ve succeeded in the past – gone to a potluck/buffet, filled up my plate only once with healthy options, and wrote it all down. But that was a long time ago, before my eating habits went to complete shit. I DID NOT trust myself to choose healthy choices in the potluck moment, so I chose my healthy choices in the morning. (That’s a lot of choosing.) I preemptively protected myself against Potluck Liz. Morning Liz was all “Hell no you don’t!” and Potluck Liz was all “Awww maaaaan!”
Rock it out, Morning Liz. Rock. It. Out.
P.S. I know Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I wish everyone the best of luck. I might post this evening with my thoughts about T-day.