A Perfect Life?. Dawn Atkins

threw open the freezer. The pint of ChocoCherry she’d bought two days ago felt suspiciously light. Inside, a frosty spoon rested on just a scrape of pink and chocolate at the bottom. Damn it, Kitty. Tell me these things.

      If she expected to get her fat-and-sugar fix tonight, she’d have to go to the all-night grocery, where a pack of gum cost as much as the GNP of a small nation. But this was an emergency. She grabbed her purse and managed a slightly wobbly march to the elevator and then outside. She thought about what she was wearing—the sexy “getup” she’d splurged on—and her spirits sagged.

      Jared’s loss, she told herself, throwing back her shoulders and wavering fiercely onward in her spike heels. She deserved better than that putz, just like Georgia had said.

      The evening, as lovely as the previous one, was a depressing contrast to her mood. Conversation and music leaked from the restaurants and bars she passed. At least somebody was enjoying Valentine’s Day.