me vs. therapy

'so, i got home, clomped up the stairs, turned the corner and there it was.'

'what?'

'the post office package from doesn't deviate donkey.'

'which one is doesn't deviate donkey?'

'the one from boston.'

'umm, what's with the name?'

'she was rigid. she was stone-cold solidly rigid. a nuclear explosion 2 miles from her house couldn't have melted through that.'

'i see. you certainly receive a lot of packages from exs. what was in it?'

'some of my stuff.'

'maybe you should stop giving things out until 6 months in.'

'i never make it to 6 months in.'

'exactly. why don't you tell me about your latest donkey?'

'she's not a donkey. she's latin.'

'umm, ok. so what does that mean. exactly?'

'it means that her name is el burro.'

'i see.'

'it makes perfect sense.'

'yes. of course it does to you. so why don't you tell me how it's been going with her.'

'i can't do that.'

'ok. why can't you do that?'

'she told me i can't. she's puerto rican.'

'what does puerto rican have to do with it?'

'you've never dated a puerto rican have you?'

'no.'

'they like knives and other shiny, deadly things.'

'is that right? the entire ethnic group huh?'

'yes..'

'ok. well i am not going to accept that you won't discuss this with me in therapy because you can't find the discretion to not publish it in your blog. so let me ask you again...how are things with the new girl?'

'BLEEP. BLEEP BLOP BLIP BLEEP. BLOOP BLIPPITY BLIP BLIP BLAP.'

Blank stare.

Smile back.

Blank stare.

Raised eyebrow back.

Therapist says, 'you must like her?'

'yes.'

'then i guess that's all i need to know for now.'

'thanks. hey you know lent is coming up here soon.'

'you're an atheist.'

'yeah, but i was brought up catholic.'

'ok. where are you going with this?'

'well, i wanted to like...try and give something up. for lent.'

'umm, yeah so, angela...'

'yeah.'

'you're an atheist.'

'right.'

'i guess i'm not sure why you'd want to follow a ritual instituted by a religion you don't believe in.'

'it's tradition. i like the comfort of tradition.'

'ok. i'll go with that.'

'hey, you're a jew. you don't believe in lent either. wouldn't it be fun to give something up together?!'

'no.'

'oh. well, i want to.'

'fine. i'll bite, what do you want to give up?'

'well, at first i wanted to give up sex with chics.'

'don't you mean donkeys? chics co notates chickens.'

'right. ok, sex with donkeys. but then i thought that there's something i really have been wanting to give up more than casual sex with someones that i hardly know.'

Look over at Satan. Satan shakes head. Sighs heavily.

Look back at therapist, say; 'i need to give up diet coke.'

'you think that's realistic?'

'no. but neither is thinking your 4-year old son who enjoys barbies, jazz class and the color pink will turn out straight. but people do.'

'you know why i like you angela?'

'because you're queer?'

'i like you because you say what you mean. and you're too self absorbed to even realize the effect it will have on anyone else.'

'i think you just said i'm an asshole.'

'in a roundabout sort of way.'

'really?'

'no. i would never say that about a client.'

'you'll just think it when i leave.'

'correct. actually, what i was trying to get at is you're honest. despite being crass and indelicate. it is an admirable quality. no matter how carelessly you wield it.'

'er, right. so i'm going to try giving up the diet coke even though you don't think i can.'

'i think it's biting off a lot. but, you'll try it no matter what i say. so, good luck and stock up on motrin for the headaches.'

'thanks therapist.'

'you're welcome, angela.'