One of my best friends (an ex-boyfriend who I am great friends with now) has been two-timing two partners for the past year-and-a-half. I have tried to understand and accept his behaviour; even being supportive when he breaks up and then gets back together with each of them fortnightly. However, this has been going on for far too long and quite frankly I am over it. I always get the same story: one is great for sex and the other great for intellectual stimulation. Essentially, he likes to have his cake and eat it too – what to do?

Over It; Unsubscribe, Darlinghurst

Dear Over It; Unsubscribe,

Dear me, what a gluttonous friend you have. He reminds of a delightful woman I once encountered at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Now, before you go closing your browser and judging me, bear in mind that my sojourn to a land with mystical salad combinations and mystery meats was not by choice: it was a friend’s nominated venue for their birthday party and we were around twelve years of age; I was there for the lolly bags and the Land Before Time hand puppets.

Despite being a feral children’s party, we were a respectable and polite bunch until it was dessert time, then all bets were off. A word of advice: never stand between a ravenous, sugar-crazed child and the soft-serve machine. Fortunately, it was only entrée and all present had made their respective trips to the sneeze bar and returned with soup that was undoubtedly comprised of 100% ‘soup skin’ as it had been sitting there so long, handfuls of ‘bacon’ bits and enough garlic cheese sticks to build a life-sized statue of famed naturalist, John Muir. Splendid.

I resumed my seat and proceeded to prod with my fork the least offensive looking dish – a tomato quiche – on the smorgasbord when I spied a squat woman busying herself at the buffet, loading up two plates – presumably one for she and one for her lunch partner – and returning to the table. I thought to myself, “Oh, isn’t that nice of that rotund lady with three-quarter-length pink cargo pants – bringing over her mother’s meal?” She placed the plate on the table and headed back in the direction of the sneeze bar, I assumed to retrieve her elderly mother waiting patiently by the carvery. Alas, it wasn’t the case and she returned with another two plates: one laden with an assortment of roast meats and vegetables; the other, a mountain of fettuccine doused in poor-man’s carbonara sauce littered with a drug seizure’s worth of grated parmesan cheese. A family of four? I pondered. No such chance.

My greedy friend made no less than four trips to the table, each time returning with two overflowing dinner plates enough to feed a regular person. I watched in horror as she spread her legs into a brace position, lowered herself onto her chair, the chair squeaking beneath her immense hulk as she scooped up the fork from the table. I pushed my quiche away as she shovelled hungrily mouthful after mouthful into her waiting gully trap. Her eyes flashed maniacally and she salivated like an animal as each forkful met her smacking lips, barely breathing and casting a plate aside, ready for the next as she took her last gulp. It was truly one of the most repulsive displays I have ever seen and I am glad I can share it with you before dinnertime. There is no greater weight-loss method than a morbidly obese and uncouth solo diner to turn you off food for a week. You can thank me when you drop a jean size.

Your friend is just like our fat feeder here: unable to decide between dishes at the buffet, he opts to take it all regardless of the appearance of his actions. Like any good friend should feel comfortable doing when their friend is clearly biting off more than they can chew, pull him aside and tell him that he needs to make an informed choice concerning his relationship regimen. Initially he might not take kindly to your advice – no one ever likes to be told they’re carrying a little extra load – though, eventually he will come around. He’ll need to decide which segment of the food pyramid is best for him – the sugar or the brain food – and find a healthy balance without anyone getting hurt. If neither can accommodate his needs wholly, it’s time for him to cut his losses, return to the sneeze bar and chance dating (and salmonella) all over again. Just tell him to keep his hands out of the chocolate mousse.

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