“I’m sorry. It’s…. You just seem so young. I guess I was expecting someone a little older. In the movies, you guys are all middle-aged with elbow patches.”
“Therapists aren’t born middle-aged. We all have to start somewhere.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I guess it’s just a life experience thing.”
“Yo!” she suddenly snapped. “I’m from The Bronx. That’s mad hood up in there. Badass motherfuckin’ shit goes down and you gotta deal, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Right. Oh sure.”
Because white girls from suburban Milwaukee know all about badass motherfuckin’ shit goin’ down.
Suddenly, her cell phone rang. And not just any ring. It very clearly rang to the tune of “Deck the Halls”. I couldn’t stop myself from letting out an audible sigh.
“Ay, coño!” she said as she reached into her bag and turned off her phone. “Sorry about that,” she apologized.
“It’s okay.”
“No it’s not. You’re upset. Be honest.”
“Really. It’s okay.”
“No. I can tell you thought it was unprofessional. You come here to have someone listen and…”
“It’s okay. Everyone forgets to turn off their phone.”
“You sighed. Be honest. I saw you sigh.”
“Okay, um….” I decided to just get it out there. “The sigh was about the ring tone.”
“And what about that upset you?”
“It’s just… You do know that Christmas is seven week away.”
“Right,” she said simply, expecting me to go on.
“Do you really want to listen to that for seven weeks? I mean…Christmas is ONE DAY. One day almost two months away. And yet, everywhere I go it’s...”
I stopped. I knew if I got started…
“There are no filters in this office, Dorrie. Spit it out.”
And then I lost it.
“It’s a fucking Santaland out there! I just saw a woman wearing a snowflake sweater! It’s seventy degrees! And my coffee shop---one day it’s Pumpkin Spice and the next day it’s Peppermint Swirl! I just... I hate Christmas!”
She seemed shocked.
“You hate the birth of the baby Jesus?” she said as she crossed herself.
“There were no mochas at the birth of Jesus. I’m pretty sure.”
“You can’t be hating on Christmas. That’s bad for your soul.”
“A lot of people hate Christmas.”
“No they don’t.”
“What about all those people who get depressed over the holidays?”
“Shorter daylight hours. Lack of Vitamin D and serotonin. Gets you down. But not Christmas.”
“Then why does the suicide rate shoot up during the holidays?”
“That’s just a myth.”
“But people get depressed, right?”
“Homesickness. Lack of a significant other. Not enough money to buy gifts. Or over-worked and not enough time to spend with family. But they don’t hate it.”
“Let me guess. You love Christmas.”
“I’m all about the love, boo,” she said as she thumped her hand over her heart and gave out the love.
“Look, I don’t object to the day. Christmas DAY. But I don’t understand how you can listen to “Deck the Fucking Halls” every time your phone rings and how Little Miss Sunshine at the coffee shop can listen to sleigh bells ring-ting-ting-a-lin’ for the next two months and why everyone is so damn happy about it?”
She leaned back in her chair and surmised, “You’re a Scrooge.”
“I am not a Scrooge! Are you…are you licensed?”
“Dorrie,” she said firmly as she stood up from her folding chair. “I will not have no player haters in my office! We straight?”
She was scary.
“Yeah. Sure. We straight.”
“Ait,” she said simply as she sat back down. “And by the way, yes---do you have lousy insurance.”
“Sorry.”
“So,” she continued calmly as she picked up her yellow note pad. “You always hate Christmas?”
“No. When I was a kid I loved it. It’s just different now.”
“Why is it different?”
“I don’t know. It’s just…” I tried to figure out why it was so different. And then it hit me. “Aw…” I laughed at my own thoughts. “This is stupid.”
“It’s not stupid, Dorrie. What’s different?”
“Well… There’s no Santa.”
“Okay. You know there never was a Santa, right?”
“Yeah. I’m not crazy.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. So. No Santa. What does that mean?”
“It’s just… There’s nothing special that’s going to happen. Nothing magical. Or anything. There’s no… There’s no great hope.”
“Hope for what?”
“I don’t know. Just…that special thing that’s supposed to happen. And everything Christmas-y tells you that something special and magical is going to happen. But it doesn’t. It never does. And it never did. For example, when I was a kid, I really wanted a horse. Every year I asked for a horse.”
“And you never got one?”
“No!” I just let it all out. “But there was no way I was ever going to get a horse. We lived in the suburbs with a tiny fenced-in yard. There was no room for a horse. But every year I asked Santa for a horse. And I knew you had to be a good kid to get a horse, so I was a REALLY good kid. I was the Golden Child. But there was no point, you see. It didn’t matter because we didn’t have acreage and a barn and a stable boy and chickens walking around….” I started to trail off into nonsense. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I could’ve been a shitty kid. But I wasn’t. I just…thought maybe I’d get a horse out of it. I just wanted a horse. That’s all.”
I took a deep breath and sighed.
“Okay. So you wanted a horse. And you didn’t get one. What do you want for Christmas this year?”
“I don’t know,” I said all pathetic. “I need a new coffee maker. Can we talk about something else?”
“Okay,” she said as she looked at my paperwork. “So, are you married? Single?”
Having never been to a therapist before, I had no basis for comparison. But
