Not that kind of therapy

Further evidence that my friends think I have serious issues:  a couple of days ago I was running late to meet some friends for lunch.  When I got to the restaurant, I apologized in the following conversation:

LAB:           Sorry I’m late, I was at therapy.

Friend 1:    You’re finally in therapy?

LAB:           Yep – I know I waited too long.

Friend 2:    No shit.  Did you tell them about how you freak out when strangers touch you?

LAB:           What?

F1:              And about how many times a day you wash your hands?  It’s just not right.

LAB:           What?

F1:              And about how you won’t touch babies because you think they’re unsanitary?

LAB:           *WHAT*?!?!

F2:              And all that crap about how you think your parents really hated you and just pretended to tolerate you and how now you’re sad that you can never ask them?

LAB:           What the hell are you guys talking about?  I was at physical therapy for the tendonitis in my right hand from when I injured it last year.

F1:              Oh.  Never mind.

F2:              Um.  I was just kidding.

This may be my very favorite conversation of all time.  At least I got a free lunch out of it.