‘Take your time,’ the doctor said to his fraught, middle-aged patient.

Wringing her hands, taking deep breaths, Mrs. Jenkins said, ‘I can't get this man out of my mind.' She stopped and burped loudly expelling all the air she’d gulped in.

‘Go on, Mrs. Jenkins,’ the doctor told her.

‘I don’t know his name. Who he is,’ she confided in almost a whisper.

Amused, the doctor told her, ‘There is nothing wrong with being in love.’

‘You don’t understand.’ Mrs. Jenkins slumped in her chair, weeping.

As if to mollify her, the doctor got up and went around his desk, and handing her a tissue, waited until she’d finished wailing. Then he examined her eyes, looked into her ears and mouth, and returning to his desk, sat down again.

‘I can’t see anything wrong, Mrs. Jenkins,’ he said.

‘Of course you can’t!,’ she replied, exasperated. ‘He’s in my head.'

‘Take these tablets as instructed. Come back in a month,’ he told her, writing down a prescription for Prozac.

As he passed the prescription across the desk to Mrs. Jenkins, two hands shot from her ears and ripped the prescription up into tiny pieces.