I have a kindred spirit in the office, a middle-aged man who couldn't be my father but could probably be an uncle, who also loves food. He's not a chubster like me, though he takes walks to maintain his "girlish figure" and makes comments that borderline people make: "I love food, as you can tell," while pushing out what tiny hints of a pot belly he has. If he catches me nibbling at my desk, he comes over to see what it is. In the past, he has brought me chocolate kisses, and I gave him a strawberry and a heads-up to the leftover cheesecake in the fridge last week. I was just in the kitchen, taking some potato chips from a humongous bag left over from a meeting, when he came in and got some for himself too. Hee hee.
I like people who like to eat; you know you can trust them because they're normal.