“Forget it, Pro. You’re not getting any fancy white albacore.”

I scooped her down off the counter and put her back at her bowl.

“You want to be thin, don’t you?”

Not if I have to eat this glop, I don’t.

The vet had warned me it wasn’t going to be easy. I’d just have to hang tough. Sooner or later she’d break down.

I headed for the bedroom to get dressed for my dinner date with Kandi. Prozac followed my every footstep, dodging between my ankles, all the while moaning piteously. I did my best to ignore her as I threw on some jeans, a silk shirt and an Ann Taylor blazer. But it wasn’t easy, because by now, Prozac was howling like a banshee.

“Jaine? What’s going on in there?”

It was my neighbor Lance, shouting from his apartment. Due to our paper-thin walls and his Superman-quality hearing, Lance knows a lot of what goes on in my life. Of course, he could’ve been Helen Keller and still heard Prozac’s ruckus.

“Oh, it’s just Prozac. She’s mad at me because I put her on a diet.”

“Well, keep it down, will you? Some of us are trying to have sex in here.”

“I’m so sorry, Lance. I had no idea you had anyone with you.”

“Who said I had anyone with me?”

Oopsie. A little more information than I needed to know.

“Have fun,” I said weakly.

Then I carried Prozac out to the living room and plopped her on the sofa, where she stared up at me with Starving Orphan eyes.

“Try to understand, Pro. I’m doing this for your own good.”

I bent down to kiss her, but she pulled away.

“I’m going out now to have dinner with Kandi,” I said, grabbing my car keys. “I’ll be back by nine. Eat your haddock.”

Okay, go ahead and leave me. Go eat some fancy dinner while I’m stuck here with that disgusting haddock goop. You, of all people, have got a lot of nerve putting me on a diet! You, who just last night polished off a pint of fudge ripple ice cream. And don’t think I don’t know about that Chunky Monkey cone at Ben & Jerry’s today.

Okay, what she actually said was Meow, but I could tell that’s what she was thinking.

I hurried out the door before she could bring up the slice of mushroom and anchovy pizza I’d eaten for breakfast.

(Okay, two slices.)

“So what do you think? Roses or violets for the bridal bouquet?”

I was sitting across from Kandi at Pacos Tacos, our favorite Mexican restaurant, scarfing down boatloads of chips and guacamole while Kandi barely nibbled at the edge of a pickled carrot.