You Look A little Uncomfortable

Today was my latest IST visit. So far, I’ve gone alone in order to get to know her and determine which of my many flaws we are going to address first.

Only this time, my wonderful husband agreed to join me.

By ‘agreed,’ I don’t mean I threatened him with bodily injury if he didn’t join me.

I just let him know it was today, said he was free to come along if he wanted, and to my surprise, he agreed.

We arrived early, sat in the waiting room, and chatted while we waited. No big deal.

But, when the IST came out, and we walked in, my husband went from Mister ‘sure, I’ll come along, no big deal’ to looking for the nearest exit like someone had just pulled the fire alarm. Trapped.

Even the IST noticed and said, “you look a little uncomfortable.”

He nervously replied, “well, maybe a little.” Ha. More than a little honey, come on.

I betcha her chart notes read: “Husband near panic attack. Wife clearly hog tied husband to get to therapist. Major problems.”

I won’t go into the details of what we discussed. Ya gotta draw the line somewhere and if I start blogging the details about therapist visits with my husband, I might not have a husband.

After a few minutes of him chatting (yes, to all of you who know me, I shut up and let him talk) and breathing into a brown paper bag (just kidding) he calmed down and was comfortable talking to her.

Well, as fine as a male can be discussing his marriage, with his wife sitting to his left and a stranger sitting straight ahead.

All things considered, he did great.

I will say this: I swear that woman has planted a spying device of some sort in our house.

The last time I was there, my second visit ever, she pegged me so quickly I was sure my mom had called her ahead of time and given her the Shannon Cliff Notes.

During the joint session of Congress therapy, she made a summary statement about where she thought some of our very few issues stem from (read: what’s wrong with me that carries over into the 4 males I live with) but her statement was eerily accurate.

All I could say when she finished was, “That’s creepy.” And then I turned to my husband and said, “I swear, I did not call ahead of time and tell her to say that.”

After one session together, we made great progress.

He’s agreed to take on all the dishes, laundry, bill paying, car pool and dusting.

And, I’ve agreed not to be a mad, raging lunatic of a woman. On Mondays.

Just kidding. On both accounts.

I didn’t say we drugged him.

And, I could never promise to be that normal.

I mean, just imagine how BORING our lives would be if I agreed to such a thing? ;)