Well, phooey on him. I hoped his curls wilted in the smog. Really, it was most annoying how he just assumed I was incapable of putting my own cat on a diet. Well, I’d show him. Before long, Prozac would be svelte enough to lick her privates on the runways of Milan.

I got in my Corolla and was tooling off to the dry cleaners with a load of slacks and silk blouses in the backseat when I happened to pass a Goodwill store. On an impulse I decided to stop in. Sometimes I find some really neat stuff at thrift shops.

I’d pulled into the parking lot and was just getting out of my car when I saw someone familiar walking toward me from the drop-off area. It was Ashley, the big-boobed, margarita-toting gal from the PMS Club.

Suddenly I was embarrassed. I didn’t want her to know that I shopped at Goodwill. I realized I was being ridiculous. I remembered how much fun Ashley had been at the club meeting, how down-to-earth. Not the least bit snobby. She wouldn’t think less of me if I bought my clothes here. Why, lots of people think it’s chic to shop at Goodwill. But for some insane reason, I was embarrassed. Maybe it was Ashley’s silver Jaguar gleaming in the parking lot, or the multiple carats of diamonds studded in her ears.

I reached down into my Corolla, pretending to be looking for something, hoping she hadn’t recognized me, but it was too late.

“Jaine? Is that you?”

I straightened up and smiled.

“Oh, hi, Ashley.”

She hurried over, her ample boobs bouncing with each step.

“Jaine, sweetie. We’re so happy you’re joining the club.”

“Me, too.”

“You’re coming to the meeting tonight, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Of course.”

She glanced in the backseat of my car and saw my dry cleaning.

“You dropping off a donation?”

“Why, yes,” I said.

And then, to my horror, I realized I was opening the car door and gathering my clothes in my arms.

What the heck was I doing? Was I nuts? Why on earth hadn’t I simply told her that I was shopping there? Oh, well. I’d just walk over with my dry cleaning and then wait till she was gone and put the stuff back in the car.

But that was not to be.

“I just dropped off a bunch of slacks that shrunk in my closet,” Ashley said, laughing. “C’mon. I’ll keep you company while you make your donation and we can gossip.”

And so she walked me to the drop-off area, carrying on a stream of chatter that floated in and out of my consciousness: