It's one thing to get the email about the sugar-loaded whatever on the alter each day. That can be deleted, ignored.
But when the alter is basically an extension of your desk, and everyone comes over to admire and nibble the goodies, it's trouble.
Right now, I can't help but fixate on the coconut-tapioca cake. I could grab it without leaving my seat. The chocolate-covered pretzels (rumor is they're from the Domain), luckily, are just beyond my reach.
If the stacks of stuff on my desk get higher, or I suddenly put up some other form of ridiculous barrier, you'll know why.
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Get angry. Say, out loud, F You to the altar. Does that altar want to tempt you with goodness? F You. Does it call with a loving singsong voice? F You, and F your singsong voice.
You gotta want that altar to stay busy, cuz every time you are tempted but resist, it's a notch in your (smaller) belt.
F You, altar. (It also helps if you do the arm gesture at the same time).
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