A Change Of Pace
Dr. Freud . . . I hear you calling
By Steele Coddington | December 3, 2008
Jeepers. My psychiatrist and I disagree on a lot of things. She thinks most writers are nut cases. “No,” I argue, “we’re simply arrangers of facts and ideas into words that you might not understand because they have no Freudian sexual implications.”
Well, that certainly put her into a psychiatric snit as we discussed my last Spoof Space article on health and wellness which exposed a new scientific study about bacteria on women’s hands and French kissing. I told her we would receive a lot of comment from women asking for tips on how to kill germs on hands. She shook her head with emphatic psychiatric aloofness and said, “Sorry my dear man-child, but you just don’t understand the female psyche.” She went on to point out that women don’t care about hands. She said that their inquiries would ask how to get rid of germs in the mouth, but with no reference to French kissing that might otherwise reveal a secret craving. (See? I told you she had Freud written all over her.)
“By the way,” she said, “in medical terminology, I have contracted FRENCH KISSING into one word – ‘FRE-KI’ and those that partake as ‘FRE-KIERS.’ We do that to avoid any stigma attached to artisans of a practice that is, in my opinion, yukkie.” “Well,” I informed her, “many ladies and gentlemen I’ve talked to since reading my very authoritative treatise last week said they would much prefer ‘FRE-KI’ than shaking hands, since the study established that only their hands had bacteria, not their mouths. And besides, more people gargle than wash their hands, so ‘FRE-KI’ is certainly a more sanitary alternative.”
It’s nice to have a friendly psychiatrist, but I hate it when she calls me man-child. I think it’s because I fall asleep like a kid on her couch while she’s analyzing my mysterious adult brain. Good grief, now that I think about it, possibly I talked while sleeping on her couch and she knows something embarrassing about me that I confessed while snoring peacefully, dreaming something erotic. Maybe about that blonde divorcee with the great body next door, and the day her bikini top fell off at the community pool. My wife accused me of staring and instead of referring to me affectionately as Frank Sinatra, “old blue eyes,” she called me “old glue eyes.”
Whoops . . . all that is privileged doctor-patient communication, so I’m not allowed to reveal the details unless it comes out in National Enquirer, or National geographic or the Congressional Quarterly. However, I am working on an article on the incident that coincides with “The Great Bailout” in Washington, which I will entitle “The Great Fallout.” All in glorious color that might draw tourists to Carefree.
To end our session so I could go home and take a private nap, I told my good Doctor that labeling women who were ‘FRE-KIERS’ as ‘yukkie’ identified her as a closet misogynist. After that, unfortunately, I saw her writing at the end of her evaluation note, “Male chauvinist pig.” I’d quit going to her, but she really needs help. And she doesn’t get many normal people like me to balance all the nut cases she sees every day. Next week, when she calls me man-child, I’ll ask her if she washed her hands before she started counseling me, and remind her that Dr. Freud believed that a dirty mind is better than a dirty hand. Glad I don’t have any Freudian tendencies.
Is that my wife I hear laughing in the kitchen?
The Importance of walking
Walking can add minutes to your life. This enables you at 85 years old to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $7,000 per month.
My grandpa started walking five miles a day when he was 60.
Now he's 97 years old ...
and we don't know where he is.
I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.
The only reason I would take up walking is so that I could hear heavy breathing again.
I have to walk early in the morning, before my brain figures out
what I'm doing.
I joined a health club last year, spent about 400 bucks. Haven't lost a pound. Apparently you have to go there.
Every time I hear the dirty word 'exercise', I wash my mouth out with chocolate.
I do have flabby thighs, but fortunately my stomach covers them.
The advantage of exercising every day is so when you die, they'll say, 'Well, she looks good doesn't she.'
If you are going to try cross-country skiing, start with a small country.
I know I got a lot of exercise the last few years ... just getting over the hill.
We all get heavier as we get older, because there's a lot more information in our heads.
Every time I start thinking too much about how I look, I just find a Happy Hour and by the time I leave, I look just fine.