“May I offer you something for dessert on the house?” asked the waiter after our main course. “Gladly,” I answered, “but vanity stops me!” He chuckled and went his way. “When did you start worrying about your weight?” asked my beloved. “If I remember correctly,” I peered toward the restaurant ceiling, “I was thirty-three when I first noticed that I had a problem with food.” She squinted at me: “Much of your life!” Having made a quick calculation on my mind, I nodded emphatically: “Exactly a half!” When I told the waiter about my calculation, he just grinned politely. We know him for at least three years now.