Neil: Sophia, let me ask you something. When I was with Pamela today (editor’s note: this week I’m calling my therapist Pamela), I couldn’t help noticing that she had just shaved her legs, and she wasn’t wearing any stockings, and she was sitting with her legs crossed, so they were right in front of my face.
Sophia: So what?
Neil: Do you think she was hitting on me?
Sophia: No.
Neil: Do you think she was hitting on me as a TEST — a psychological test — to see how focused I was, or whether I could keep my concentration on my own issues?
Sophia: No.
Neil: It’s very intimate in there. I’m telling her all these personal things.
Sophia: That’s why it is called therapy. You’re paying her for that.
Neil: So, she wasn’t hitting on me?
Sophia: No.
Neil: You’ve never thought about your therapist… in that way?
Sophia: No.
Neil: I don’t believe you. You never felt anything for him?
Sophia: No, it’s way too obvious. It’s a cliche. Falling for your therapist.
Neil: I see… and you don’t do cliches.
Sophia: No.
Neil: So, you don’t think about other men?
Sophia: I didn’t say that. I said falling for your therapist is a cliche.
Neil: So, who do you think about?
Sophia: Well… there’s the waiter at the Peruvian Restaurant. He’s really good-looking.
Neil: You’ve thought about the waiter at the Peruvian Restaurant?
Sophia: Well, it’s not a cliche.
Neil: So, are you insinuating that falling for your therapist means the person is… boring?
Sophia: I never said that, either.
Neil: You insinuated that.
Sophia: You know, you should talk to your therapist about this.
A Year Ago On Citizen of the Month: Won’t You Be My Neighbor?
You and I are more similar than you think
Sophia could be wrong. I rarely shave my legs unless I want to get lucky.
I am not a therapist and I never shave my legs. I just needed to get that off my chest.
I’d say a Peruvian waiter sounds like a heck of a lot more fun than any therapist.
i wish i were like a man, where personal-hygene=hitting-on-me
Don’t worry about it. It’s called transference. You’re SUPPOSED to fall for your therapist. Then you spend years talking about it.
I could never date a therapist. You would NEVER be allowed to be irrational, and I need a lot of room for that.
i would never want to get involved with my therapist- they’d always be dissecting me and asking me how things “feel”- ugh!
Dude, Peruvian waiters can be really hot. Thank god it’s not a cliche, or I would just have to settle for being cliche’.
I never fell for any of my therapists–in my transference, I was far more likely to think of them as a “mommy” substitute. On the other hand, with my oedipal issues, maybe that’s the same thing.
Danny — That’s because you didn’t have my therapist. There is no way I would mistake her for my mother.
Don’t fall for the therapist! Their odd people. Really odd. I worked in the counseling center in college; trust me when I say they are not like other people.
But then again, neither are you.
Sophia, Sophia, Sophia–you have my eternal admiration, not to mention sympathy. I’d have flattened the noodnick halfway through that whine.
Not being cliche’ is in a way, becoming cliche’
What you had there…was a moment of real.
Good. now, go have another.
And I consider anybody who is not my daughter… who brings me food to eat… extremely sexy!
Yeah…stay in therapy.
*giggle* *heeheehee* *gives Sophia a gold star* **giggles some more** snort
I’m with Danny. I was way more likely to think of my therapist(s) over the years as parental substitutes than objects of romantic attention. Probably is a clue why I needed so much therapy.
Of course, it was true that the last one (and the one with whom I did the best work) actually had an uncanny resemblance to my father. Like a 2nd cousin twice removed resemblance.
Or it could have been that he was Jewish.
Sometimes I wish my therapist could be my friend. I really like her.
Of course, that could just be my “need for approval” speaking.
Ha!
Ok, Tony Soprano!
My therapist is really fat old guy. He is like a grandfather to me.
I am a therapist. I am like other people. Really.
Sometimes I shave my legs and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I comb my hair and sometimes I won’t. (I don’t want to know what my clients think about me when I don’t comb my hair.)
Depending on how the wind blows I might even paint my toes. It really just depends on whatever feels good in my soul.
There, I said it.
How’d you know she’d just shaved her legs? Does she usually cross them and they’re hairy?
Angelista — That is a good question. For some reason, I just knew…
Neil,
She shaved her legs for a rendezvous with HER therapist. She was fantasizing about him while you were talking. That’s why she was so distracted.
Keep talking….