Walking to my car tonight, I was reflecting on, y'know ... stuff. I was in the afterglow of my client's words tonight as I terminated our sessions together. He said, "Could I recommend you to some of my co-workers? I told them I was seeing a therapist and they said they needed to see one too."
When I told him I was available, he said, "Well ... would you be this good with a woman client?"
I had to laugh. I told him I was glad he thought I was good, and fortunately since I also have a female client with whom some good work was done, I could truly tell him, "Yes. I do the same work with women."
And on the mile-long trip back to where I parked my car (because I'm rushed between 5 and 6pm, racing into New York from the day job, I just park it legally closest to midtown and take the subway the rest of the way. At night when I'm done, I have the luxury of walking back to the car--which I do because it's New York City at night. It's magic.)
Anyway, I'm walking and thinking and realizing that my life is not so bad after all, even though it's Valentineless Day. I generously give smiles to those who make eye contact. I think nothing rancorous about the couples hand-in-handing past me. In fact, I wonder where they have just come from or where they're headed. Like Karnak The Magician, I could see a bed in their near future or immediate past.
Lots of oochin' and ahhin' going on tonight, I jibe with my inner voice. I look up to the lighted windows towering above Broadway and think, "Y'alls nekkid right nowww...! All sortsa kissin' and a' lickin' and a' rubbin' and a' massagin' going DOWN right now, baby, YEAH!"
And I wonder how many babies are getting started at that very moment. Whimsically I stretch out my fingers and count when these little sprogs are going to slide into our world later this year.
February. March. April. 4, 5, 6, 7 ... 8 ... o sh!t.
Babies made on Valentine's Day get born on the average in October.
You have got to be fookin' KIDDING me.