My oldest brother and sister in law are the best gift givers. Where I live, the south is a wasteland bereft of Italian pastries. Occasionally, you might stumble across a really good cannoli but otherwise, fuggedaboutit. One year, early in December, a box arrives in which sits a cooler. Inside the cooler is a cornucopia of Italian pastries and cookies shipped from an Italian Bakery in Syracuse NY. OMG. I felt like Matt Damon in that movie where he’s stuck on Mars and gets the potato to sprout. (Ok, I guess you had to see the movie). A holiday gift from my oldest brother and sister in law. Best gift ever.
Last night I get home and there’s a box at more door and it says gift for you and I rush inside to open it and….. it is fruit. Fruit? A box of fruit. “She called them!”, I screamed in my head. “My FPO called them. No, she doesn’t even know who they are. They called her. Dammit. My mind is racing. You’re a crafty person you are, oh Food Parole Officer!! It’s ok though. I told them the fruit would go great with the dozen sfogliatella I ordered from Ferrara bakery in NYC through Goldbelly. (This was my first hit off this food sins crack pipe app, but if this experience is any guide, they are gonna be busier with me than Alex Murdaugh’s drug dealer). Also, should you be unfamiliar with this “pastry” of the God’s, look here- “Pastry of the Gods”. (Lest my FPO read this and have a mini stroke, they are all in the freezer and I haven’t cooked any yet. Yes, they come frozen and you have to bake them so it kinda(?) follows your “make sweets yourself rule. (We may have to negotiate a “give most away” waiver for these pastries. This is the hazard of having a lawyer for a client.
This wasn’t the first time I realized my FPO has been, without any apparent effort on her part, poisoning the minds of those who know me For quite some time now, when I’m out with friends, or have them for dinner, they look at what I’m about to eat and say “what is your FPO going to say?” Or, “what are you gonna tell your FPO?” How would you like it if every time you had sex, your significant other said, “what would your Mother say? That thing you did? You know, the best thing? What would your Mother say? “Eh tu, Brutus,” I think. “OMG- Let’s not tell her!” Or, “I’ll tell her but I’ll soften the blow”. Or, I bribe her with food. it’s like growing up Catholic and going to confession and trying to make your felonies seem like misdemeanors. (Good lawyer training, by the way). While your substance abuse friends do not want a bottle of cognac or it would seem crappy if you did, do not wrest the donut from your weight struggling friend. Even metaphorically.
But mark my words- if I go to my Starbucks and order the once a year holiday Turkey and stuffing panini and they say “What would your FPO say?”, I’m gonna…..
(If you’d like to read more about how in God’s name this poor FPO is dealing with lunatic me, #1 in this series of 9 starts with “E mail updates to my Registered Dietitian (FPO) in August of 2020)