I was having dinner last night in the restaurant of the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills, where I have been staying for the past few days, and when the waiter offered me the dessert menu, I said no thanks. Didn't even want to read about the flans and creme caramels and decadent chocolate things. Was full. Stuffed. Had not even finished my risotto.

So he took the dessert menu away. And a few minutes later, back he came with ... THIS.

My dinner companion, screenwriter/director Bob Weide, had also turned down dessert. And so he ALSO got one of these.

"The chef got this machine," our waiter explained. "He's having fun making cotton candy."

Bob and I rolled our eyes and continued our conversation, talking now while looking over the top of these huge...things.

And then we both started sneaking little fingerfuls of it. Of course it melts in your mouth. Disappears. Requires another fingerful.

And so this is the story of how two people, neither of whom wanted dessert, ended up with sticky fingers and a billion calories of sugar.

And tonight I am having dinner in the same restaurant with British screenwriter Guy Hibbert...and I am not going to tell him about this phenomenon. I am eager to see the look on his face.