The Carrot & The Stick

Annie Pinchis sat staring at the ink blot. Her therapist, Dr. Lipke, seemed to think this was an important step in her “healing.” Healing from what he had, thus far, kept to himself. Annie thought Dr. Lipke was a douche bag but, thus far, she had kept that to herself.

If Annie had known that she would be subjected to an unholy mélange of Jungian philosophy. Freudian analysis and self help mumbo jumbo she’d have given therapy a pass. But, unfortunately, Dr. Lipke was the only therapist in her insurance network within fifty miles. He also insisted on her attending at least one session a month in order to get her prescription. Annie knew that medication was all she needed. So, she thought, my brain chemistry isn’t right. Big whoop. Give me a pill and leave me alone! Dr. Lipke continued to hold up the ink blot.

Annie began to panic. What if she said the wrong thing? How often would he require her to come in then? Oh, Christ, she fumed, they always find something wrong with your answer. They say there is no right answer. So, if there’s no answer why ask the question? Hu? Why? Just to mess with you.

Annie looked at the ink blot. It looked remarkably like someone had spilled ink on a white piece of paper. Wisely, she decided that that probably wasn’t the right not right answer. She leaned forward as if concentrating on it more closely.

“It looks,” think, she screamed in her head! “It looks,” safe. Safe. What’s the safe answer? “Like Bugs Bunny holding a carrot!” There! What could anybody possibly say about that? Annie felt a smug smile creep across her face.

“Is it,” Dr. Lipke leaned forward excitedly, “a large carrot?”

Annie sank back in her chair, smirk sliding away to nothingness, and resigned herself to twice weekly sessions.