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with the imbalance of affection toward Tiffany extending even as far as their parents were concerned. They would have told Sandra she was wrong about that, but she thought there wasn’t a clearer eye than that of a teenager longing for attention and seeing it go to her more attractive sibling instead.
    Tiffany was pregnant now, and Sandra was crossing her fingers that she’d start to show by the holidays so that, for once, Sandra wouldn’t have to feel so conspicuously, and singularly, large and round at the family gatherings. Maybe it would even change her relationship with her parents, though she doubted it since the golden child was going to have the platinum baby.
    Nevertheless, Sandra had taken this as the perfect opportunity to join Weight Watchers, albeit online. As Tiffany grew larger, Sandra would grow smaller.
    That would be a nice change.
    She thought of that now as she prepared a Weight Watchers recipe for Sweet Potato Gnocchi with Gorgonzola and Walnuts. It was a delicious dish. The problem was, the serving recommended seemed so small.
    Sandra was pretty sure she wasn’t the only Weight Watcher to feel that way. Even size 6 (when she wasn’t pregnant) Tiffany ate four times as much, without ever putting on an ounce.
    The difference was, Sandra was going to have to stick to the portion size, whereas Tiffany would never have to give it a thought.
    A long time ago, Sandra had realized that life just wasn’t always fair. And if she wanted to lose some weight, or do anything at all, she was going to have to play by life’s stupid, cheating, biased, and badly refereed rules.
    The phone gave a distinctive double ring.
    Another customer.
    Sandra grabbed a plastic fork—she kept them on hand for just such occasions, since they were so much quieter than stainless steel against the bowl—and hurried to where she’d left the phone on the counter.
    She took a breath, quickly psyched herself into being Penelope, and pushed the TALK button. “This is Penelope,” she squeaked. Penelope was like that sometimes. She was so delighted to get a call, she was practically Marilyn Monroe. “What’s your name?”
    “Hi, Penny,” a familiar voice said. “It’s Steve. Steve Fritz.”
    Oh, Steve. She’d told him a hundred times she didn’t think he should be giving out his real name to people he didn’t know over the phone.
    Then again, maybe that wasn’t his real name.
    “Hi, Steve,” she said warmly, dropping the sex voice with some relief. Steve was a Talker. He wanted sympathy, never sex. She loved it when he called, though sometimes she felt really bad that he was paying two ninety-nine a minute to hand his metaphorical hat and coat to Donna Reed at the end of the day.
    “It’s been another one of those days,” he said on a sigh.
    “Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Sandra said, settling into a chair. “What happened?”
    She wasn’t Penelope on these calls, but she wasn’t Sandra either. She was…It was hard to say. She was someone not quite motherly, but caring and maternal. Someone confident. Someone who had successfully navigated the obstacles of life and had come out on the other side, wiser and more serene.
    Seriously not Sandra.
    “You know how I told you about Dwight? The guy in the mail room who makes stupid comments every time he brings me the video game catalogs?”
    “Yes, that jerk.” She hated people like that. She’d gone to school with hundreds of them. “What happened?”
    “Well.” Steve’s voice was tight. “I think he put my name on a newsletter for transsexuals.”
    “Oh, no.” Asshole. Unimaginative asshole. Guys like Dwight picked on guys like Steve to make themselves feel better about their Chap-Stick dicks.
    She’d probably talked to Dwight herself.
    He was probably one of the ones that liked being “spanked” for being “naughty.”
    Steve wasn’t finished. “He made a big production of bringing this newsletter in today. That means I’m going to be on all kinds of