I've always loved pears—they are a sweet, juicy harbinger of Fall. My whole family races to eat them when they become ripe. Speaking of which, have you ever noticed that pears, like avocados, seem to follow a certain pattern: not ready, not ready, not ready, THEY ARE ALL PERFECTLY RIPE, oops, now they are overripe. That window of perfect ripeness is only a couple of days long, hence the race to eat them all.
We can only eat so much peppermint bark and gingersnaps before we realize that our non-elastic waisted pants are threatening to cut us in half and we are experiencing strange post-sugar-crash-lethargy, and by "we" I am referring to myself and my current outfit of stretchy yoga pants.
I confess, when it comes to gustatory pleasures, I have two major weaknesses: savoury snack food and red wine, sometimes both at the same time. Don't leave an open bag of chips near me, or a bowl of kale chips, for that matter. It is equally dangerous to leave an open bottle of wine within a five-foot radius of wherever I happen to be lounging on a Friday night.