Were I still happily married to Mr. Three (and that number should give you pause regarding any couples advice I might espouse), I could speak to the success of couples counseling.  Would that this approach had helped.

Trying to get your male partner into therapy is like persuading him to ask for directions...the perfect metaphor.  When...not if...he gets lost, he’s bound and determined to fix that problem all by himself.  No matter that you graduated with a Masters degree in Directional Road Intelligence or that you’re southern, which allows you to sweet-talk ANYone into helping you no matter what the problem might be.  And, watch out because he’s going to get mad at YOU as if it was YOUR fault that he made that left turn while you put your foot on the imaginary brake, leaning your body to the right in anticipation of the turn shown clearly on the map in your lap. 

If you’ve been with your male partner for more than eight years, you’ll slyly smile to yourself and just let him get so lost that untangling his circuitous route will slowly unfold much to your self satisfaction.  You might be a skosh late for your destination, but you’ll get to stop at Susan B. Anthony’s historical homestead because you have the upper hand.

Don’t schedule a couples therapy session around any sporting event...trust me on this.  After Mr. Three’s one and only therapy session with me and a very attractive blond psychiatrist, I asked him what he thought.  He had so completely disassociated himself from the uncomfortable nature of our experience that his response to my question was (and this is the truth), “Well, if the Red Sox can force another game, they just might win the World Series.”

Need I say more, really?

KK

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Okay, I’m going to fess up and admit to being the stupidest girlfriend in the whole world.  I lived with a man I adored in Brentwood, CA for a year.  I wonder how many of you will be able to relate to this.  First of all, let’s call him Paul.  The bottom line?  I loved him more than God and would have done anything for him.  He made liberal use of a credit card I gave him for emergencies, and I left the relationship fifty-thousand dollars in debt.  I can take the fact that I got conned, but what really sticks in my craw is that it was obvious from the start that…he was as gay as a Mardi Gras drag queen.

Has this happened to any of you?  My wonderful therapist and I had to agree that this man should have been in therapy.  There were signs all over the place.  Come on, let’s face it, most men have checked out porn on the internet.  It’s in their genes.  But when you come home from work and find ‘XXXTeenSex’ with a nekked picture of some 16 year-old surfer dude on the desktop of your computer….you have to wonder, is that an accident?  According to Paul, things like that just appear out of nowhere, and there is nothing you can do about it.  I actually bought that.  My love was as blind as Ray Charles.

Paul really liked talking to the young man behind the Starbucks counter and had a picture of a nekked male model in constant view by his desk.  I really liked that picture.  It was sexy as all get out.  I imagine Paul had many a nice afternoon pleasing himself to that and a picture of George Clooney before going for his next round of 16 double-shot espressos at the Starbucks.

My therapy over this interlude in my life is over.  My therapist and I have agreed that in spite of my continued payments to credit card companies, my peace of mind is in tact and my memories of that year now focus on how nice it was to get out of that relationship with nothing more than a fading bitterness, a great nekked picture of a male model and an inability to trust any man ever again in my whole life.  Ce la vie, says my therapist.  Sometimes when you give up….the love of your life appears.

All I can say is he had better have a hammer and a chisel if he is going to break down this wall.  He should also come armed with a manly demeanor and tickets to the next Longhorns game.  I’m not saying he should arrive on a Harley but it would help.

SalGal