Okay, so it’s always struck my inner Beavis as inappropriately hilarious that “therapist” and “the rapist” are just a misplaced space away from a Monty Python sketch. But now I’m paying the price (as usual):
I may have inadvertently hit on my counselor.
See, the time before last, she had her hair down and I complimented her on it. I hadn’t seen it down before and I was raised to say nice things to people (to their face). Then this LAST time, she had her hair down AGAIN… and SHE complimented ME on my shirt.
Now, I’m fairly sure one should not date one’s mental health professionals, plus I’m REALLY sure no one who’s seen into the cobwebby corners of my psyche should be even remotely interested in the enormous inevitable train wreck that is a relationship with me. We should also probably mention that I think EVERYONE is hitting on me — self-image was never my problem!
Maybe it’s like Poor Ol’ Dad always says: The hotter a woman is, the crazier she is. So I suppose the reverse is also true: the crazier a woman is, the hotter she is. Plus this foil hat really brings out my eyes.
And by the way, when asked if the Poor Ol’ Dad Corollary of Hotness vs. Craziness applies to Dear Sweet Mama, POD had only this to say:
“Your mother has always been very hot.”
I rest my case.