“Are You My Therapist?”
A picture book for the special guy in your life.
A mother bird’s egg cracked open and out popped a little boy bird. As he grew, he would spend each day telling her all about his problems, and she would help him. But days turned to years, and the baby bird grew up.
“Oh my,” said the mother bird, one day while her son slept. “It is time for my son to find someone else to discuss his problems with. He is too old to talk to his mother this much. I would like to have a life of my own.”
So away she went.
The baby bird woke up.
“Where is my mother?” he said. He looked for her.
He looked up and down, but did not see her.
“I need someone to talk to about my fears and my ambitions.” So away he went.
He went to a coffee shop. The kitten who was a barista there looked kind.
“Are you my therapist?” he said to the kitten.
“I am not,” said the kitten. “And you are holding up the line.”
The kitten was not his therapist. So after calling her a “frigid bitch,” he left.
He called up his ex-girlfriend, a cow.
“Are you my therapist?” he said to the cow.
“Why would I be your therapist?” said the cow. “I am your ex-girlfriend.”
“This is exactly why I dumped your ass,” said the bird. In actuality, she had dumped him because his repressed emotions led to terrifying bursts of anger, but that was beside the point.
The kitten was not his therapist. The cow was not his therapist. Did he have a therapist?
“My feathers are falling out in clumps due to stress,” said the bird. “but I DON’T need a real therapist. I have to find someone who will listen to me!”
The bird got drinks with his male friends. Could they be his therapist?
“Don’t be silly,” said his friends. “Men do not talk about feelings. That is for women. Just have another beer.” And so he did.
He stumbled up to the bar, where he struck up a conversation with a doe. “Finally! A therapist!” he rejoiced. But when he came back from taking a whiz, she was gone.
Wasted out of his mind, the bird walked outside, and called his mother.
“Mother! Mother! This shitty doe just abandoned me at the bar and I am incapable of coping with rejection. Help!”
His mother replied, “I am your mother and I always will be. But you must stop using the women in your life as unpaid mental help. I think it’s time for you to see a therapist — a real one. I will even pay for it.”
The bird thought. He thought and he thought and he thought.
Then he said, “Fuck you, mom,” and passed out on the street.
The next morning, the bird woke up on the street. This was rock bottom. He had no one to talk to — not even his mother. The bird came to a conclusion.
“I know exactly what I must do.”
He went on the internet and typed in a word. He found someone who was highly rated, and who was close by and took his insurance. He marched into the office, and opened the door.
“Are you my therapist?” asked the bird, looking at the bird sitting inside.
She looked at him, and said: “Yes. Yes, I am.”
The bird thought. He thought and he thought and he thought.
Then he said,
“Oh. I was kind of hoping for a man.”
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