Monday, 6 September 2010

bed wetting and the child psychologist.

I overheard these two guys, maybe my age, talking in the steam room.

'Guess what?' says the less balding one, "My ex called. She wants me to talk to our son about going to see this child psychologist she met at Pilates to deal with his bed wetting.'
'The cunt!' the portlier guy dutifully replied.
"I know! Fuck am I supposed to say to him? I mean, sure I take him to the footie and stuff but we don't really have that kind of relationship.'
'Bummer!' the other replied but then added, 'Hang on, didn't you say your son was 27 and working for Goldman's in Tokyo?'
'No, Lehman's in Bangkok, but that's folded so he's back to kipping on my couch while trying to get his kick boxing career off the ground.'
"And he's what... wetting your couch?"
"No, not him, it's the child psychologist my ex has hooked up with. She reckons he's actually getting off on it- the great big, passive aggressive, perv.."
"Hey, don't knock it till you tried it... but, wait, how does this involve your son?"
'She wants me to get him to go round and give the fellow a kicking."
"Keep it in the family. Nice. And your commission would be...?"
'Nada. Zilch. Another reparation owed her ruined youth."
"The cunt!"

Says it all really. Personally, I blame David Cameron.

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