I find eating decisions simple when I first sit down.
“Yes, that’s my order,” I say to the server, then eagerly take the first bite. Besides an odd habit of eating my hamburger upside-down and setting it with the bite away from me, I have no concerns of direction or hesitation.
Somewhere just past the middle is when the problem sets in.
“Do you want any?” I ask my husband. His meal is also half-finished; he was going to ask me the same.
We’ve reached the awkward point of portions: too little to box, and too much to finish.
Half is exactly the problem we encounter with brownies at home.
Easily enough, the pan is reduced to a row, two servings, then one. Once there, at a reasonable final square, we play the mind-game of a psychological mathematician.
Every time I want to eat a bite, I cut what is left in half. When my selfless husband walks by the pan, he removes exactly half of what he encounters.
If Zeno had his way, neither of us could claim selfishness. But we’re talking brownies.
And this is the real reason, I tell the doctor, that I cannot stick to my diet.