THE FAT MINDER

On the night of her birthday, Andy took Paige to an exotic Southwestern restaurant where they served three scallops, two green beans, called it dinner and charged fifty dollars.  The room was shaded in the beige adobe of the Southwest, with hurricane lanterns on the table, and a single spray of purple orchid in a vase.  Her husband looked over at her with a glow of propriety and said, “I have a present for you.”  Paige smiled as she swirled her one remaining scallop in the thick creamy sauce.  Andy wasn’t good with gifts, and this seemed a happy development.  He slid a small white envelope her direction.  She took a sip of red wine and held onto it, then slashed her well-manicured nail through the back.  Out came a card that read,  “Rosalind Fine, Fat Minder.”  Paige looked up and then around at the other diners, who seemed to be eating without difficulty.
“Fat Minder?” she said and looked over at Andy now. 
“She’s going to watch you.”
“Do what?”
“Eat,” Andy said, trying for a smile.  “She’s like a personal trainer, someone who helps you manage your diet.”
“You mean she manages my diet for me?”
“Something like that.  She also cooks the food, so I'll have something to eat too.”
“I told you I didn’t want a cook.”
“She’s not a cook!”
The festive lights in the restaurant faded before her eyes.  The parceling out of food was to be a lifelong trial - she saw that now.  You can give up alcohol, you can give up smoking, but if you stop eating, you die.  “Andy, do you think this is necessary?” Paige said, as she tried not to gulp her wine.
“I think it sounds like a great idea.  Another guy in our office used this woman and he lost thirty pounds.”
“But maybe I could just eat less,” she smiled brilliantly, trying to make it all go away.
“No, you couldn’t.”  Andy pitched this hateful remark into his wine glass and didn’t even see the tears in his wife’s eyes.