Troubles and Treats

Okay, I take it back. This woman might be a genius. If she can get my wife to connect with me at the pelvis, I will buy myself a pair of Birkenstocks and sit under a black light with her, smoking pot.

“Jenny, I’d like you to do something for me. Turn your body on the couch so that you are facing your husband.”

Jenny does as she’s told, pulling her legs up onto the couch and sitting Indian style.

“Okay, now, Jenny, I want you to look down at your husband’s penis and tell it you love it.”

Jenny hesitates and looks at Dr. Madison questioningly.

Do not question the good doctor! Do as she says!

“It’s alright, Jenny. This will be good for both of you. Talk to the penis.”

Jenny slowly turns back to me and stares right down at my lap.

“Um, I love you.”

“Very good, Jenny! Now, I want you to apologize to the penis for taking it for granted,” Dr. Madison explains kindly.

I wonder if she’ll tell Jenny to suck the penis next. And if so, should I ask the good doctor to leave or stay?

“Uh, I’m sorry for taking you for granted,” Jenny says while still staring at my lap.

“Excellent! Okay, Drew, now it’s your turn,” Dr. Madison states.

I don’t even hesitate. “I love you penis! You are the best guy ever! No, seriously. You never let me down, you’re always up when I need you to be, and I apologize for some of those issues we had back in college that required antibiotics,” I say to my penis.

I look up at Dr. Madison, quite proud of myself for being such a team player with this whole therapy nonsense.

“That was very nice, Drew. But what I really wanted you to do was talk to Jenny’s vagina,” she explains.

Well alrighty then.

Figuring I might as well be comfortable for this, I curl up on the couch and rest my head on Jenny’s thigh. “I love you too, vagina. I miss you like a hooker misses her virginity. True story. Why have you done me wrong, Boo? Why is there such a distance between us? Remember when we used to hang out every day? Now I barely see you once a month. You’ve changed, vagina. I hate to say this, but you have. You’re a different person now, and it’s like I don’t even know you. I thought maybe you were hanging around with a different crowd of people and they influenced you against me. Maybe we’re just growing apart. I don’t want to lose you, vagina! I need you like I need air to breathe and football on Sundays. I just can’t quit you, vagina!”

I realize when I finish that the room is eerily quiet. I lift my head from Jenny’s leg and see both women staring at me with their mouth’s open. Okay, so I had cried a little. Sue me. This is emotional shit. This doctor is getting to the heart of all of our problems. My penis and Jenny’s vagina.

“Um, that was…uh, unexpected,” Dr. Madison states.

I sit up fully on the couch and grab a Kleenex from the side table and blow my nose.

“Wow, that felt really good,” I say, rolling my shoulders and stretching my neck from side to side. “It feels like a weight has been lifted. My mind is clear and I feel so free. What should we do next?”

Dr. Madison looks down at the notepad in her lap and flips a few pages. “Well, I think you have made some great progress, Drew. We just need to get Jenny where you are. Jenny, when was the last time you hugged your womb?”

“Hugged my room? I don’t get it,” Jenny says, confused.

“No, your womb. The place where you gave life to your two children,” Dr. Madison explains.

“Uh, can I do that here? Shouldn’t that be done in a real doctor’s office with a table and stirrups? I don’t think I can reach it otherwise. Unless you have a mirror and maybe a flashlight.”

“If I can reach your G-spot in the middle of the woods with a tube of watermelon Bonne Belle Chap Stick while it’s raining and there is a homeless guy in a tent four feet away singing the Sesame Street theme song, then you can hug your womb,” I tell her encouragingly.

I probably shouldn’t have brought that up because now I’m distracted and can only think about the one time we went camping and got lost in the woods.

And now I have a hard on.

“Actually, I don’t mean you actually need to…um, reach up and touch your literal womb,” Dr. Madison explains.

“Why is she talking about littering? Is she saying my womb is dirty?” Jenny whispers to me.

“What I need you to do, Jenny, is just cradle your arms around your lower stomach area. Hold your womb in your arms and give it comfort. Let it know you care.”

Okay, now this chick is talking crazy.

“And while you’re at it, try soothing your ovaries and give them some encouragement to open themselves back up and accept the love that is given. I believe the problem here is that your womanhood has closed itself off and no longer recognizes love.”

Bat shit crazy. Talking to my penis and Jenny’s vagina is normal. This is one step away from taking all of our clothes off and dancing and chanting around a sacrificed pig.

My awesome wife does as she’s told though and wraps her arms around her waist. She gently rocks from side to side and begins talking to her “womanhood” like it’s Billy.

“Such good little ovaries. Yes you are!”

I want off this crazy train. Right the f**k now!

Watching my wife rock-a-bye her ovaries makes me wonder what she initially thought we would get out of this counseling session. I had thought it would be a bunch of arguing and pointing fingers about whose fault it is that we aren’t having sex anymore. Maybe she doesn’t think that’s the problem. Shit, maybe that isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s just my problem. She’s not faking a work injury, she’s not cheating on me…what the hell else could it be? A few years ago she cut me off from sex for a week because I gave her a Dutch Oven in bed one night. While hilarious, it’s never a good idea when your wife is naked and getting ready to mount you.