Grease is the Word

Yesterday I went to an afternoon croquet party.
Wanting to be proper, my hosts served mint juleps (I passed) and a delightful array of finger sandwiches and other prissy, croquet party fare.
I locked in on the tiny chicken salad finger sandwiches on whole wheat. I probably had four of them because they were so delicious.
They also contained a food I have not luxuriated in for more than seven months. Mayonnaise. Rich, creamy, full fat mayo.
My fat intake now consists primarily of olive oil and whatever fat remains on the leanest cuts of meat. I don't even use canola oil.
But the mayonnaise laced little chicken salad sandwiches were far too good to avoid, and after all, I was depriving myself of a mint julep.
So, this morning I was rather dreading my glucose test. No problem, it was only 112.
But here's what did happen when I awakened.
My face was covered in a thin film of oil. It was enough oil to make me have to use alcohol and cotton balls to remove it. Even my hair was a little oily.
Yes, whatever mayo was included in those four tiny triangles of chicken salad finger sandwiches made enough grease to ooze out of my facial pores the next day.
Jeeze.
I imagine a big cheeseburger and fries would grease me up so bad I'd just slide out of bed.