“You just wait,” I told them, but in my heart, I knew that in eight days I would be having the last laugh. I was determined to prove all the skeptics wrong. And so, Chanukah rolled in.

The first three days were pretty tough, but I managed. At home and in school while everyone was partying on doughnuts, I munched on snacks of carrot sticks and cut up zucchini (it actually tastes pretty good raw), and pretended not to care. Though my mouth was drooling at the sight of all those yummy doughnuts. I did think of going into hibernation until Chanukah was over but even I knew there was more to Chanukah than just doughnuts. Still the thought was tempting; after all, there’s a limit to how much self-control one person can have. And my supply was starting to run low….

Then came to the fourth night of Chanukah. Our class Chanukah party. You know, the yearly event that nobody wants to miss. Lots of good food, singing, and fun. The party was a real blast (no, I didn’t indulge in any of the many confectionary delights, I contented myself with the lower-calorie alternatives). About two hours in, Zahava and Debby, who had organized the party, explained the rules of the game. They would read out a statement about a girl and once everyone guessed the girl, she would pick a challenge from the envelope. It was all loads of fun until it came to my turn. I was actually the last. I pulled out the final slip of paper and opened it — and my excitement turned into dismay. There was no way I would be able to carry it out without sabotaging all my efforts of the last few days. I’m not going to leave you in suspense although you’ve probably already guessed it: my challenge involved doughnuts. I had to compete with a friend of my choice over the speed of eating a doughnut in its entirety, without any licking of the lips. Taking some calming breaths, I stammered an apology for being a spoilsport, explaining that I was in the middle of a diet and couldn’t eat any doughnuts. The embarrassment of revealing my plight in public was worth the outpouring of sympathy I got. Zahava and Debby (who had slipped out in the midst of all the commotion) quickly came back in with two cucumbers. The new challenge was a race to finish a cucumber first. Phew! The disaster was averted. You know, sometimes friends are so sweet, you don’t even need doughnuts.

The Chanukah chagigah came and went and still I managed to stick strong to my resolution. On the sixth night of Chanukah we had our traditional family party at Bubby’s house. As usual, she brought out tray upon tray of mouthwatering doughnuts for dessert. Those were easy enough to resist because they were officially off limits. But then came the real test. A huge doughnut-shaped ice cream cake. Oh, no! That was far too much already. I mean it wasn’t exactly a doughnut, it was ice cream. On the other hand, it had a strong resemblance to a doughnut. I had to think this through properly before I was put on the spot, so I made a quick exit. Not that anyone noticed. They were too busy ogling over the dessert. For 15 minutes I stayed outside, fighting an internal battle. It was a doughnut. It wasn’t a doughnut. Yes. No. Until, I finally decided that it didn’t come under the ban of doughnuts. I could eat it. But there was no more left when I came back inside. Okay. I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

On the last night of Chanukah, I had a dream about doughnuts. Must have been the doughnut deprivation finally catching up with me. There were five of them chasing me. I was running and running, determined not to let them catch me, but eventually, exhausted, I fell down in a slump as a huge jelly doughnut came barreling into my mouth. I woke up in a cold pool of jam (sweat). I had lost. The doughnuts had won. You can’t imagine how relieved I felt when I realized it was just a bad dream. Only one more day left, I told myself. I could do this. I really could.

The next morning, as I was eating my breakfast (oatmeal with a glass of skim milk, if you must know), my father walked in from Shacharis with a package in his hand. He pulled out a white bakery box and handed it to me with a flourish. My siblings looked on enviously as I excitedly opened the box. No way. There staring back at me mockingly, topped with pink icing and covered with colored sprinkles, was the most delicious looking doughnut. What in the world were my parents thinking? They knew how hard I had been trying this Chanukah. Now, when I was so close to the finish line, they had to come and give me this? I couldn’t understand why they were doing this to me.

Betrayed is how I felt at that moment. I fled the kitchen — no need to make a public spectacle of myself — and escaped straight to my bedroom. Two minutes later the whole laughing contingent barged into the bedroom, doughnut in hand. Was there no end to the torture I had to endure? I couldn’t anymore. My defenses were down. Then I saw the doughnut was open. Hey! It wasn’t even a real doughnut. It was a doughnut-shaped jewelry box. My parents had covered it in icing and sprinkles to make it look real but inside was the most exquisite looking bracelet that matched my wedding dress — a reward from my parents for working so hard to lose weight. The doughnut they gave me was supposed to make up for all the doughnuts I had deprived myself of. You bet it did. Once I got over the shock, I had a good laugh. I had to admit it was a good shtick. Did I ever tell you I have the best parents in the world?

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr. Issue 688)