Tiny Tales

Regret.

The only worse decision than falling in love with the pretty girl was to go see a professional after she tore my insides apart.

“There’s only one way for feelings to pass, you know. They must be felt.”

I look at him with a facial expression that says, I am listening, tell me more. After all, I am here for his wisdom.

Googling “shrink” and clicking on the first ad lands you here. Ever wonder why so many plumbers are called A+ or AAA or A1 Plumbing? Sure they’re all unimaginative idiots with more brawn than brains, but also, they wanted to be listed first in the yellow pages. But here we are, the wonders of modern technology, and whatever nepo baby in a designer suit pays the most for the “shrink” keyword shows up first.

So here I am then. Spending what would have been my kids’ college fund on Chad Anderson, or Doctor Anderson as he likes to remind people.

His pen scrapes lightly on the paper. Montblanc, if I am not mistaken. I wonder if it’s real gold on it. His hourly rate and the Harvard degree he so proudly displays on his office wall certainly seems to think so. Will it look just as glamorous when I stick it in his throat? I wonder.

“What do you think, Thomas? Will you try letting the wave pass through you, next time it comes?”

“I think I will let a wave of pain pass through you, you arrogant prick”, I say, in my mind, but keep it to myself, or he’ll inevitably send me to some advanced kum-ba-yah anger management circle that he read about in Psychology Today on his quarterly trip to Hawaii.

“But of course. I am so grateful for your advice.” I smile politely, peeking at my wrist as if to check the time. I’m begging he won’t add any free minutes to the billable hour.

“Splendid. Same time next week?”