Lucy Cunningham’s control tops were so tight that her inner thighs hissed like a swarm of cicadas with each step. The rhythm of nylon-on-nylon provided the soundtrack to what was becoming a long and humiliating stroll through the Palm Club’s cardio studio, where she was scheduled to meet the man that fate-and her psycho boss-had selected to change her life.

Yes, people were staring. But that was because Lucy was wearing a business suit in a sea of spandex. That, and she was the only chubby chick in a room full of skinny people, which was always funtastic.

Lucy adjusted her laptop strap and pasted on a smile. So where was this guy? It was horrifying enough that she’d agreed to a public makeover as part of one of her own marketing campaigns, but now she had to go peeking behind treadmills in a game of find the uber-trainer? According to the receptionist, he was a hard-to-miss man with short light brown hair, blue eyes, and a little gold hoop in his left ear. Yet so far, she’d managed to miss him and his hoop just fine.

Lucy felt ridiculous. Then she felt around inside her jacket pocket for the comfort of her edible worry beads and popped two Milk Duds into her mouth. It hadn’t escaped her that the beloved Duds would have to go if she was going to lose a hundred pounds in a year. But for that blissful instant, perhaps the last she’d ever know, Lucy closed her eyes and felt the chocolate melt on her tongue until it was yielding and warm, just the right consistency to swirl around under her soft palate to position for the gratifying payoff-the lethal slam of her bite.

Ah, Milk Duds. The official candy of pissed-off fat women everywhere.