If you give Elissa a cookie ...

Dear friends and fans,
I realize you are greatly anticipating my post concerning my galvanization into the film world, but I must address something first.

For the past two months, I have made it a goal to limit my sugar intake to two days per week. In this I have been doing very well and am quite pleased with myself come the end of the day.

I'm mainly doing it because I have a slight sugar addiction, but I also do it because it feeds my self-righteousness.

I have been very dedicated and am able to pass up decadent trifle my dear aunt has made, or shake my head at cheap Costco gelato, and even resist the urge to lick the screen while looking at Pinterest.

The holiday season comes upon us, and we all know that means each day is pumped with at least a 304%  increase in sugary goodness. I'm at peace with the forthcoming fructose tsunami and have mentally been preparing for it.

But like any well-written superhero, I have a weakness in my armor.

Gifts of sugar.

You see, when you feel the need to be domestic and bake me supreme chocolate chip cookies that are fluffy in the middle but slightly crisp on the outside -- I cannot refuse such a thoughtful gift. I love sugar to begin with. And I probably love you. So to say no to two loves at the same time would be heralding Armageddon before its due time.

But just save it until one of your sugar days, you say. But I cannot. The wafting aroma of those cookies, though hidden next to the water heater, will permeate my dreams and drive me to madness until I enclose my jaw upon them.

Are you seeing the dilemma you put me in with your lovingly baked gesture?

So this holiday season, as you make your plates of mint brownies and peppermint bark cozied up to gooey caramels underneath seductive rolls of cinnamon -- please don't give me one. It's not that I don't appreciate your friendship or love that you thought of me. It's that I appreciate you thinking of me so much I'm willing to sabotage my own personal goals. This gives me such sweet moments of pleasure, but in the end I feel terrible about cheating myself ... and usually end up with diarrhea as well.

If you can't stand the thought of coming to my door caroling without leaving a token of holiday cheer, know I gladly take cash, check and bank transfers.

You really are just too thoughtful.