Get out of my head Motherfucker

Oh goodie. My next blind date has a real career. As a therapist. Yikes. Dating someone that knows crazy so well, he’s even trained in it? Won’t he be constantly one-upping me on all things mental? One step ahead of me at every unfiltered yet charming thing that flies outta my mouth?

But wait. He works with kids. So he’s gotta be patient and caring. And surely he’ll know how to handle an unruly adult.

But wait. Is he gonna want to crawl into my head and figure me out? Will he know what I’m really thinking before I do. And worse, will he want to therapize me? Talking in that calm, soothing voice, reassuring me that he knows best. Ick. Unless I’m paying you, that can not happen.

My always helpful J.C. agrees, she thinks it could be like dating a gyno. He’s been there a thousand times before and seen everyone elses, how can I possibly compete? My own brand of crazy may not even be all that special anymore. And who needs that.

Too late, a girlfriend already gave the poor guy my number. Then actually told him how not so excited I am to meet him if he’s gonna be analyzing my every move. Sounds promising!