Entering the room, our fellow diners frisked us with their eyes. They gave our bodies the full sweep to satisfy themselves that we were not carrying any banned substances.Like blancmange. Or powdered desserts.I felt extremely self-conscious but, at the same time, elaborately casual about my body fat mass and facial floridity index.My face blazenly radiated high blood sugar and my gait proudly displayed I had lived a life of the highest calorific value.According to ceremonial etiquette, I had dressed for the occasion. In roomy corduroys and a loose, “forgiving” jam stain-resistant shirt with plenty of give around the bread basket.Similarly, my wife was conspicuously not in denial about her suet habit.
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