ABSTRACT
A few months ago, Sara's mother started taking Prozac. Every Sunday now, she called with more proof of her indebtedness to the drug. "I've quit my job, honey. I'm starting a catering company," she said breathlessly one day, as if she had that minute run in from giving notice. Then, a few weeks later, "I've thrown out my entire wardrobe. I'm only going to wear happy clothes."
