“I shall eat your share of fruit cake,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “I do not need to go on a diet.”

Mma Ramotswe said nothing. She was already beginning to feel hungry, and the diet had only been going for a few minutes. Perhaps she should have just a little bit of the stew—there was still some left in the pot in the kitchen. She rose to her feet.

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni smiled. “Is that you going into the kitchen to help yourself to stew in secret?” he asked.

Mma Ramotswe sat down. “I was not going into the kitchen,” she said hotly. “I was just adjusting my dress. It’s feeling rather loose, you see.”

She looked up at the ceiling. She had heard that dieting was not easy. Some time ago, before any question of a diet had arisen, she had seen an article in the paper about how diets encouraged people to become dishonest with others—and with themselves. There had been a survey conducted at one of the places where people went to diet, and it was revealed that just about everybody who went on the course took with them a secret supply of snacks. She had found that funny; the idea of adults behaving like children and smuggling in sweets and chocolate had struck her as being an amusing one. And yet now that she herself was on a diet, it did not seem so funny after all. In fact, it seemed rather sad. Those poor people wanting to eat and not being allowed to. Dieting was cruel; it was an abuse of human rights. Yes, that’s what it was, and she should not allow herself to be manipulated in this way.

She stopped herself. Thinking like that was nothing more than coming up with excuses for breaking the diet. Mma Ramotswe was made of sterner stuff than that, and so she persisted. As the others ate the pudding she had prepared for them—banana custard with spoonfuls of red jam in the middle, she sat as if fixed to her seat, watching them enjoying themselves.

“Are you sure you won’t have some of this custard, Mma Ramotswe?” asked Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.

“No,” she said. And then said, “Yes. Yes, I am sure that I won’t. Which means no.”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni smiled. “It is very good,” he said.

This is how we are tempted, thought Mma Ramotswe. But at least some of us are strong.