I got grumpy this morning with a waitress at a local diner where my husband and I stopped for breakfast before we headed to the office. It was quite early and, while he was in the mood for a large breakfast, I wasn’t the least bit hungry.

When I ordered a large orange juice and a cup of coffee, the waitress waited, pencil poised, for the rest of my order. “That’s all,” I said and held up the breakfast bar I’d brought with me.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Look, I’m on a diet,” I said, angry that, once again, I was having to tell a complete stranger why I wasn’t eating a “normal portion” of food. I’m always explaining to servers that I’ve eaten enough and they can remove my plate even though it still has food on it, and, no, I don’t want to take the rest of the food home with me and, no, there isn’t anything wrong with the way the food was prepared.

“I’m just concerned,” she said.

I’m having a 20 ounce glass of orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a South Beach Diet High Protein Cereal Bar (peanut butter flavored), and she’s concerned that I’m not getting enough to eat? My mother was never that concerned!

Sticking to a diet is difficult enough when eating with family and friends. (”Are you sure you’ve had enough?” “Just one more…” “Here, you have to try this.”) It gets ridiculous when complete strangers express their concerns about one’s eating habits.

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