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I feel fat.

I'll bet the last time you heard that comment, it didn't come from the mouth of a pudgy person. We don't say things like that. After all, we know we're fat. The last thing we want to do is bring attention to it.

This observation was proven again during a visit with a friend.

Now, let me start off by saying this friend is very dear to me - even if she is naturally thin. In spite of my friendly feelings toward her, I almost came unglued during our last encounter.

We're sitting over coffee, catching up on the latest news. I'm sipping my plain old black brew, thinking to myself how much more I could enjoy the drink if it had a wee bit of half and half, chocolate or caramel syrup, or even a dollop of whipped cream.

I look up from my pity party and watch as my friend pulls the lid off her venti café mocha (my favorite Starbucks offering). She reaches for the pitcher of cream and pours.

"They never add enough milk," she says. "I like mine a lot more creamy. Don't you?"

My smile is a bit tight, but I do my best to nod in agreement. I don't want sympathy, because it's no one's fault but my own that I'm having to deprive myself at this point in life. I refuse to take out my envy on her.

We chat for a while before she decides she's craving a muffin from the pastry case.

"Do you mind if I get one?" she asks.

Would I mind? I love muffins. Why would I mind? In fact, now that she mentions muffins, I begin thinking about one myself. After all, it wouldn't be so noticeable that I'm taking a diversion from my eating plan if I'm just keeping her company.

I join her at the counter and gaze longingly at the offerings and try to decide between the cranberry orange and the banana nut.

Then I remember that lovely floral-print skirt I bought last season on clearance. I purposely bought it too small as an incentive to stick to my diet. I really want to wear that skirt on vacation this year.

I sigh and find my way back to my seat and take another sip of my now lukewarm coffee.

My friend makes her purchase and sets the muffin on a napkin in front of her seat. It is only inches from my coffee.

I watch her tear a small bite from the muffin and realize I'm worse than my puppy, who watches every single forkful of food and licks her lips in anticipation of a crumb that might fall her way.

If I keep lusting after my friend's muffin, I'm going to start whining and begging for scraps. In fact, I have to tell myself not to pick up the fairly large crumb that has fallen back onto the table.

We finish our coffee, and she finishes her muffin without my help. I'm feeling quite proud of myself for ignoring the desperate pleadings of that hungry, desperate woman within.

It hasn't become easier to say no to her after all this time on a diet, but I have become a little better at it. I've certainly had plenty of practice.

I am tidying up my little space when my friend pushes back her seat. She leans back heavily in her chair and moans.

"Oh, I feel so fat," she says.

I look at her, vainly trying to hide the look of surprise on my face.

She feels fat? She must weigh all of 105 pounds - with her boots on (which are very trendy, by the way; I make a note to ask her where she bought them). In my head I count off all the reasons why she has no room to complain about feeling fat: She never exercises, eats what she likes and weighs just a few pounds more than my puppy.

She feels fat? Somehow I just can't get on board with the sentiment.

I know my smile has disintegrated from tight to thin, but I can't help it. I bid her adieu without even remembering to ask about the boots. No matter - they probably wouldn't fit over my calves yet.

Next time we're out to coffee, I think I'm going to try out my own line. When I'm all finished with my plain old coffee, I'm going to lean back in my chair and say, "Oh, I feel so skinny."

You never know. Maybe it'll catch on.