Magical Thinking - Augusten Burroughs [61]
Our many differences have been cause for worry for the Schnauzer. And he has had many therapy sessions devoted exclusively to this topic.
“I’m just getting used to the fact that people have differences and that in a relationship, you make sacrifices and compromises,” he tells me. “But sometimes I worry about our differences. I worry that we have too many.”
I try to comfort him with the one fact that I believe and hold onto: we are nearly the same on a molecular level; on the soul level, where it truly matters, we are identical. Therefore, I never worry about our differences and in fact find many of them amusing if not outright hysterical.
For example, I am into furry arms and legs. While the Schnauzer has a thing for butts. Some people are into hair. Or hands. Or legs. Or chests. Or feet. Or genitals. The Schnauzer is a butt connoisseur. He likes a full, round muscular butt. Street name: bubble butt. It’s a butt most commonly attached to muscular black men. Which could explain why Dennis has always had a thing for beefy black guys.
Which can make a tall white guy who is already neurotic to begin with even more insecure. But he reassures me that I have a fine butt, that it’s not as flat as I believe it to be. He tells me this despite what I see in the mirror, which looks like an eleven-year-old’s butt. So while I never much considered butts before, now I want one. And it’s one of those things you can’t really get.
So it occurs to me that the Schnauzer is accepting a handicap with me in a way. My lack of a bubble butt, his favorite body part, is worth giving up for more. Which is generous. Which seems shallow to talk about but actually, like so much that is shallow, is a quality that runs deep through his strata. The Schnauzer is a very generous man. It’s his nature. He likes people because he likes to share in conversations. I like people when they have large checks for me.
______
Because of my questionable background Dennis has encouraged me to go to therapy. Perhaps “encouraged” isn’t the right word. Perhaps “insisted” is more accurate. But I don’t mind; I’ve had some very interesting experiences behind the closed doors of a psychiatrist’s office.
My therapist is a slim, attractive man in his mid-forties. He’s extremely intelligent and truly loves what he does. More important, he has impeccable taste. His office reflects a man with interests in the world, an understanding of fabric and financial success. If a therapist has a plain, white office with two chairs and a white noise machine, I won’t come back. I require a therapist with a tasteful, well-decorated office. I tell my therapist, “I’m tired of living in the shallow end of the pool.”
He says, “What do you mean?”
I reach into my backpack and hunt for my ChapStick. I am thinking as I do this, stalling for time.
“Do you need something?” he asks.
“I’m just looking for my ChapStick,” I tell him.
He reaches into his front pocket and offers me his. First, I am surprised that he has ChapStick not only within reaching distance, but on his person. And second, that he would offer me this very intimate personal item.
I can’t help it—I instantly imagine taking the ChapStick and then, when he turns his head, biting off the end before handing it back to him.
I am reeling from this. My therapist has offered me his Chap-Stick. It almost seems like something a therapist could be fined for.
I break into a fit of laughter.
“What is it?” he asks, grinning.
Then, when I can’t control my laughter, can’t slow it or stop it altogether, when I begin to get tears in my eyes, his smile fades.
“What?” he says.
I pull myself together slightly. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .it’s nothing. I mean, I’m such an ass. I’m just laughing because I’m talking about how worried I am about being shallow, which in itself seems like such a vapid concern, being worried about being shallow. Worried, why? Because of