Ah, thearapy. I’ve been at it for 7 years. Oh, not because I felt I needed it. But because my wonderful friends dragged me, kicking and screaming, to Dr. Hudson’s office.
Here’s a typical session:
“Howdy Dr. H!” I say cheerfully.
He nods sleepily. “Did we have a crabcake this week?”
“Uh, nobody gave me a restraining order.”
“Yes yes. You know, I want you to do something for me.”
I perk up. This is his first understandable sentence! “Yes sir?”
“I want you to hold the mustard, with extra cheese.” I sink back in the chair. “And make the sesame seeds dance,” he adds.
“And they say I need therapy,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head.
“Yes, I think it’ll be good for both of us,” he replied, scribbling furiously on his pad.
I shook my head. “I could say ‘The fields lick frosting from cat’s PDA ’s’” Dr. Hudson sprang out of his chair like a rocket.
“Beautiful! You’re making progress!” he screeches excitedly.
So this is what I pay $250 an hour for…