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Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Two hicks walk into a pshrink's office...

...and that's all I got. No punchline yet.

I find going to see the pshrink rather painful on a good day. Now imagine bringing the husband, the love of my life, my greatest love and biggest frustration, into that room to face the pshrink. Dr. Bushyfrank.

On one hand, I want Dr. Bankenfrush to just grill Jethro. I want him to nail him to the wall with his unrelenting questioning. I want my husband to squirm and sweat and ADMIT that he is a workaholic and that perhaps, maybe, that this has a bit of a role in whatever mental/emotional difficulties I now find myself dealing with...

...but, this is my HUSBAND and nobody, I mean NOBODY can trash talk my man. No way. That's MY job.


So I sit on the large leather couch with the brass upholstery tacks-- I kid you not-- ripping new hangnails, examining my running shoes, pressing my thumbnail into my top lip, and generally feel like I'm burning alive, slowly, while Jethro speaks. In his gentle voice. I'm alert, poised, coiled like a compressed spring, waiting for any signs of distress from him, because I know that I have come close to tears in these sessions, and I can't handle it if it comes to that with him, because I would...I would...what? What would I do if, god forbid, his voice choked up?

I sit there crushing down the tornado of conflicting emotions. I want him to feel the hurt but because I love him so much I want to protect him and never let him know any of this.

I have known this man for NINETEEN YEARS. We've been married for almost fifteen. We basically did much of our growing up together. It's long enough to build up a truckload of unresolved problems and to cement us into an unbreakable committment. If we haven't been broken up by now, we never will.

I really didn't want to go straight home, so we stopped in a little cafe for lunch. As we sat there, carefully discussing the session, which, thankfully, didn't mess him up like it did me, he got the devilish twinkle in his stunning green eyes. I may be a halfway-decent christian girl, but I cannot ever resist the devilish twinkle. God help me.

Jethro: You wanna just strangle me right now, doncha?

Heidi: (whispering) A little bit, maybe, yeah.

J: Just fling yourself across the table and wrap your little hands around my neck and go for it.

H: Yeah. Yeah that'd be fun, kindof.

J: Wouldn't it be great to go apeshit and upend this table, send all the plates flying, and start wailin' on me? Just beat the holy crap outta me, right here?

H: (shaking slightly) Stuff breaking. Everybody looking.

J:And then the next day all the other-mothers would be avoiding you on the street and whispering, "That's the crazy chick who was in the paper for causing a public disturbance!"

H: It would be as much fun as stealing a fire truck.


Keep in mind, I've got this mennonite pacifist mentality that won't allow me to do something like that in REAL LIFE. Especially not to the MAN THAT I LOVE.

But the fact that he can lean across a table and joke about it, well that, in some sick way, makes me love him even more.

He claims that he is scared of me.

I love him even more than I love Johnny Depp.

9 comments:

Heidi the Hick said...

okay, just when I thought I had this link thing all figured out, I can't make these two work.

If you're curious what it's all about, go to March 06 and look up "How I busted myself out of the hospital" and "Holy crap buddy, where's the fire?" Then things will start to make sense.

Or confound you worse.

Either way. Crazy. er.

Redneck Nerdboy! said...

Marraige is a pain in the ass.
But it's also beautiful and spiritually satisfying.
-Jas...

JJ said...

Fifteen years? Dang...well done Heidi! (Cafeteria-scuffle-strangling-daydreams & all!)

Heidi the Hick said...

nerdboy- Well said!

jj-nobody tells you about that stuff before you get married! Or is it just us???

Kari said...

Aww, he sounds like a good man, and you an even better woman for putting up with the same man for 19 yrs. LOL!

Balloon Pirate said...

Wow. Lots of stuff in there. I can relate. I've discovered that feelings are like constipation: letting it out is far healthier than keeping it in. Once you get through the pain, things get better.

I'm not talking about your relationship with Jethro--I'm talking about your relationship with you. You can't control anything he does--only how you react to it.

And since you started a joke, I'll start one too:

An eskimo, a surfer, and the Pope walk into a bar....

Yeharr

Heidi the Hick said...

Kari- yep, we deserve each other!

Pirate- you're right. If I'd dealt with stuff instead of crushing it down I wouldn't probably have the nasty little anxiety thing. This has all been one hell of a trip. Can only get better.

Can I finish the joke?

So the nun says, twenty bucks, same as in town!

I borrowed that from Night Court.

Balloon Pirate said...

Furthermore, I did read the text next to your picture from your previous post. My comments on your comment are as follows:

1) What makes you think I was looking at your breasts?

2) Even if i was looking at them, I'm never going to touch them, so what does it matter where you end and Victoria's Secret begins?

Yeharr

Heidi the Hick said...

Pirate:
1) unfairly assumed!
2)Good point! From now on I'm taking Smartypants' advice and letting the viewers believe what they will.

anyways, I took your comment as a compliment. Like I said, I don't dress up everyday so it's a big deal when I do!