“So overall it has been a really good year for us,” Bruce said.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I told him. “I was kind of worried about you when you were here last year.”
Bruce and Becky always come down from Texas and spend the month of June here in San Pedro.
“What do you mean that you were worried?” he asked.
“You told me that ever since you were a child you always had a fear of someone being under the bed at night.”
“Oh, yeah,” Bruce said. “I remember telling you that.”
“You said the problem is getting worse. I recommended that you go see a psychiatrist. Did you go?”
“I did,” Bruce said. “He told me I needed to put myself in his care for a year and he would solve the problem.”
“I’m glad you went to see him,” I said. “Sometimes a psychiatrist is the only way to find your way out of problems.”
“Oh, the psychiatrist didn’t cure me,” Bruce said.
“What do you mean?”
“I asked him how much he charges and he said eighty dollars per visit.”
“Wow! That’s pretty expensive.”
“That’s not the worst part,” Bruce said. “He wanted me to make three visits a week.”
“Ooh. That’s two hundred and forty dollars a week.”
“It comes to twelve thousand, four hundred and eighty dollars a year. Then I met a bartender that cured me for a ten dollar tip. I was so happy at saving all of that money that I went out and bought me a new Polaris.”
“How did the bartender cure you?”
“He told me to cut the legs off the bed. Ain’t nobody under there now.”
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