Me: So, I made it all week without drinking.
DeeP: That's amazing! How did it feel?
Me: (scrunching eyes a bit, because, like, it's not like I'm Meg Ryan in When A Man Loves A Woman and, like, hiding vodka in the bottom of the laundry hamper and such. I just like my wine, people.) Good? I guess? I did drink on the weekend.
DeeP: How much did you drink on the weekend?
Me: It was pretty normal.
DeeP: So, you were totally binge drinking?
Me: I guess so, yeah.
DeeP: So, what are you going to tell people when you go out with them during the week and you don't drink? Because, people are going to ask.
DeeP: (Lingering theraputic regard.)
Me: I was just. . . afraid I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF! I'm GOING TO DRINK MYSELF TO DEATH!
DeeP: Huh. I don't think they'll take that so well.
Me: I guess that's not what I would tell them. That's just what I was thinking.
DeeP: You do have to consider your genetics, here. You might be someone who has a need to seek physical thrills.
Me: Uh, yeah, you remember my dad, right?
DeeP: (making ladder-climbing motions with his hands) Right! The guy who climbs poles!
Me: Which is different from smoking pole.
DeeP: (cocking his head quizzically) Is that slang for a blow job?
Me: (starting to giggle uncontrollably) Yes. And I think it's hilarious. SMOKING POLE!
DeeP: (throwing his bald bearded little head back and cackling) HA! HA! You are pretty funny! (He shakes his head a bit.) So, are we done with the distractions for today?
(Just in case you're one of the three people who read this blog who are not people I talk to everyday, I should tell you I have a therapist named DeeP, I hang with him twice a week. I've talked about him here and, in mind-numbing detail, here. There's my attempt to de-nonsesify.)