So Marriage Counselling with a soon to be ex-partner is fun,
isn’t it? Sat in the same air space as a
man with all the personality of an Ebola outbreak for two hours, listening to a
woman in ‘sensible shoes’ literally telling you where you’ve fucked your
relationship up. Sorry love, you may
well have an ‘ology’, but it’s not from the University of Jimmy Choo and I’d
rather have fallen arches and a little fun than a herbal tea in my hush puppies!
I think it takes a certain type of person to be a therapist;
twin sets, cardigans, and that nodding action? A Masters with a Major in Bloody Nosey and a Minor in condescension. Must take an entire semester just to master that; probably another on
scarf tying, although they wouldn’t need a unit on shoelace tying as all
sensible shoes are slip-on.
I’m sat in marriage counselling and find myself pitying this
woman’s husband. It must suck to be
married to a therapist. Not for him the
luxury of going to bed on a row, oh no… rather ‘let’s talk about our feelings,
Bernard; how did we get to this point and what possessed you to get so angry as
to throw your plate of spag bol into my Wilton?’ Can you imagine anything worse? ‘You pissed me off, Barbara, by not letting
me watch the second half of Match of the Day, however, I will ‘manage’ my
feelings by self-medicating with three cans of Stella and punish you by snoring
loudly in your ear all night long, hogging the duvet and farting loudly in my
sleep’. Who needs a degree for that?
Actually, a therapist might be the career for me. I took an
online Facebook quiz once and it suggested this, although I nearly reported the
page to Facebook as whilst viewing on my phone, the career of choice was
displayed as ‘The Rapist’ – can’t imagine seeing a position vacant in Centrelink
for that one! However, I am a naturally
nosey cow and I love a good hard luck story. I think I would combine therapy with
membership to a social club where women could support each other and partake in
activities to make them feel good about themselves; a manicure, a decent hairdo,
a massage, a Dr Scholls catalogue to peruse, crocheting a voodoo doll for
beginners. Self care (and transcendental
mutilation) are very important when a women is experiencing a traumatic period
in her life.
I think I would particularly enjoy the sexual problems. I
have absolutely no formal qualifications for this role (other than an
accidental orgasm in 2005 when I brushed against the washing machine on spin
cycle whilst trying to locate a missing sock behind the tumble dryer*), but I
am always open to hearing about people’s fetishes. I am now clinically classified as TSG (Too Scared
to Google) after the 2 girls, 1 cup disaster of 2007.
It interests me how some people have a total lack of
empathy, or are freaked out by phobias.
I guess it wouldn’t do if we were all the same though; hence the need for
religion (and Crocs). I tend to deal
with my issues through humour, although the fact that most of the world’s
funniest comedians were/are in fact all alcoholics/depressive/manic
personalities isn’t lost on me. Yes,
sometimes my humour may be inappropriate, but then again, so would be stabbing a
pensioner (it’s ALWAYS a pensioner) with my car keys in the queue at Australia
Post. Which is preferable? A misplaced chuckle at somebody’s expense, or
a five hour wait in A&E, accompanying a pensioner to prevent a lawsuit with
their frozen meals for one on the defrost in their wheeled shopping trolley,
down wind of extra strong mints, moth balls, pissy knickers and a tissue up the
sleeve of their (home) knitted cardy?
Counselling didn’t save my marriage.
Not even close.
In fact, it made me realise that I genuinely didn’t want to ‘save’
it. It was dead; it had died a long time
ago; like every pot plant I’ve had in my care since the age of 8 (even with a
carefully crafted watering schedule on a calendar taped to my wall). The death knell was tolling – I could even
hear it over the rustling sound of the therapist’s polyester trouser-encased
thighs rubbing together as she exited the room.
*that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
