All change

It took 3 days, 20 emails, 7 text messages and 2 phonecalls between me, the sex therapy clinic and my Wife to get an appointment before Xmas. And that didn’t include whatever it took to arrange childcare.

For most of that I was just piggy-in-the-middle. If my Wife had made the phone call Herself, it would have been so much simpler. But having recently thrown back at Her Her own historical assertion that She’s a control freak, I wondered if She was making a point of abdicating responsibility.

Along the way it transpired we had been loosely booked to see Carol some time in the New Year. I didn’t remember that being mentioned. Anyway, we were now seeing Sue a few days before Xmas.

Out of curiosity I later looked at the Meet Our Staff page of the clinic’s website.

I had found Skye, the boss, slightly irritating on the phone – I’d struggled to get a word in and that didn’t strike me as a good start. In the photo that went with Her biog, the way she cocked head, her perfect hair and makeup, and her oh so caring smile, reminded me of Tim Minchin’s Storm. Undoubtedly this was unjustified and unkind. But …



[Ed: Dear Reader, please don’t watch this video if you are easily offended.]

Irrationaly I hypothisised that she probably spent entire weekends entwined in multi-orgasmic tantric sex with her life-partner and soul-mate, an inteminably patient investment banker with a thoroughly massaged prostate. I was glad we wouldn’t be seeing her. (Despite my desire to have my prostate massaged.)

Sue, on the other hand, reminded me of a mum in some 1980s sitcom. I couldn’t remember which sitcom.

And there was something about Carol’s picture … I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

I read Sue’s blog. It was unremarkable.
I read Carol’s. Her field of special interest was gender issues and there were mentions of her personal experiences in the area. I figured out what it was about her picture.

Don’t get me wrong, Dear Reader, I really don’t give a flying pigmy hippopotamus if someone is straight, gay, bi, transvestite or post op transgender. Or all of the above. But I know that when someone has a really big pimple on the end of their nose, I find it incredibly difficult to not to fixate on it. Just as I find it embarrassingly hard to ignore how pronounced a woman’s Adam’s apple is.

All of a sudden I was bith uncomfortable about my own thought process, and glad we were now going to be seeing Sue. I know that sounds like prejudice, but it’s really not meant to be. It’s just that if We are talking about Our sexual dysfunction, I really don’t want my subconscious leading the rest of my mind to other ridiculous places. Even if I know I’ll be racking my brain to remember which sitcom Sue’s doppelganger stared in.

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