Today I went to lunch with my thinnest friend. She is a wonderful person and I really enjoy her company. I am also fascinated by her ability to resist foods that I cannot. For example, her entree arrived with a mound of delectable-looking homemade potato chips, the kind I tell the server not to bring me because I know I will eat every last one. (I have little self-control where potatoes are involved.) There they sat on Dagmar's plate for the entire meal, whispering my name as I ate my healthy tuna nicoise salad.
They beckoned me the whole time, especially since she never ate even one. I realized in a panic that the whole lot of them would be tossed in the garbage back in the kitchen, unless some furtive busboy grabbed a handful first. What an ignominious end for that poor potato--and with all those people starving in Third World countries! That seemed to be all the justification I needed: As the waitress came to remove Dagmar's plate, I intervened and said, "Wait, I'll have a few of those." I ate four or maybe five--okay, six--stopping only out of shame.
I don't have these problems when I dine with my fat friends. They eat all their own bad food, so I don't have to.