by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 121
It’s lonely sitting in a room (or should I say office?) where the person in front of you is about to investigate your life. I have never been to a therapist and I only went because I’ve been having problems sleeping. I was told I needed a ‘sleeping therapist’ and was assured that this guy was not one of those nosy losers who are nothing but paid voyeurs or should I say perverts who masquerade as experts and x-lovers
Anyway, I was supposed to call him doctor because he had some medical degree and that he was not a therapist but an analyst even though my employee, that is Isabella, said he was a therapist. He said, “She’s incorrect. I’m a medical doctor.” I said, “So what? You’re still the same person title or no title,” which led him to almost say something but he thought better for what he gets for the hour.
Not only that, he spoke to me as if I were a prisoner of war and that he’d be wanting more than my rank, name, and serial number. I let him know how about the Geneva Convention and that I didn’t like torture (so I told a lie) . Anyway, I possibly considered the possibility that he was dead and his mouth just hadn’t caught up to the change of events. Possibly I was over reacting…possibly.
This doctor sported a beard, one of those trimmed specialties that you see advertised by the Norelco grooming products division in your local Duane Reade where the women’s products are always recently moved to the other side of the store, next to the brooms, mops, and Dolly Parton CD’s on sale. He obviously thought it gave him stature: the whiskers. He seemed to enjoy condescension.
We sat there in mutual silence. He said, “Isabella,” my employee, “mentioned you’re a brilliant woman.” I found it interesting that he brought up my career, first. I suppose that was to break the ice. I smiled, but said nothing, I like my conversations neat.
“A successful businesswoman at the age of thirty.” I nodded with as much indifference. He said, “Fifty million dollars? Quite an accomplishment.” Actually he was short by twenty-five but then he didn’t know about my stock options and other niceties. Anyone who reads Fortune, Forbes, etc., knows something about me, hopefully not too much. I was surprised he was reading those journals, or maybe Isabella just had a big mouth, or maybe I was getting too well known, anyway…
He said, “You have an interesting walk” Okay, I hadn’t been spanked in a while. Meaning I didn’t have that spanked walk, that spanked twitch that can give a girl away. “What does my walk have to do with anything?” He said, “It shows you’re a woman of strength and accomplishment.” I hit back with, “It could also mean I’m a snooty bitch with an attitude.” He smiled, not too sure if I was joking or serious. I smiled at his confusion. I believe he filed the remark in his character analysis folder.
“So you’ve been having problems sleeping?” His eyes dropped to my legs, one pump was dangling. I stopped the dangling. I felt like a painting in a gallery with someone staring at me. My suit coat was open. I was wearing a thin bone cashmere sweater under my navy suit jacket which fell off my firmish breasts. I was being inspected…What else is new?
