ANOTHER week. Another decision. This one the result of a night at the theatre, where I went to see a play co-written by my old boss.
Personality Games had just come to Sydney after a run in Melbourne. It was described in the program as: “A play about being a psychiatrist and being a patient ... about borderline personality and about testing the borders.”
I could not do the play justice by attempting a precis here. Let me just say that as a therapist who has, at times, been involved in the treatment of borderline personality disorder, it certainly hit the mark.
So, I hear you ask, how was I confronted by the need to make a decision?
Well, in truth, my decision had nothing to do with the play.
Having drinks afterwards, I realised it had started to rain. I had not brought my car and I asked Jill, a psychologist friend, if she could give me a lift home. She agreed, and some time later we left.
The rain was by now torrential and neither of us had an umbrella. I stopped for a second, but Jill had already walked off into the downpour.
What would I do? What decision would I make?
I wanted to scream out: “I’m sorry, Jill. I really like you as a colleague and a friend, but not enough to catch pneumonia and die.”
But, of course, I couldn’t. I had asked for a lift and Jill had agreed. A social contract was in place, with no escape clause for inclement weather.
Besides, she was a girl!
I caught up with Jill. She told me two things I didn’t want to know.
First, her car was parked “miles away”.
Second, she loved to walk in the rain.
Suddenly I remembered: Jill was a bushwalker, Jill was an ocean sailer, Jill was tough. And here she was in a downpour with marshmallow man.
And then things got worse. Jill couldn’t remember where she’d parked. She could hike through rugged bush, she could navigate across treacherous oceans — she could lose a car in Sydney’s CBD.
I was losing it myself. I needed to get a grip. As an old thespian, I knew I just needed to find the right motivation. It arrived in the form of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
Had I been imbued with the toughness of Butch and Sundance? Perhaps.
Had I incorporated this duo’s skill in conquering adversity? Possibly.
Or was it the song?
Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turning red.
Whatever the cause, I was filled with the spirits of Butch and Sundance and I matched Jill step for step in the rain until the car was found. Marshmallow man made macho.
Like the legendary adventurers, I’d leapt off my own cliff and found my personality game enough to survive a soaking.
RIGHT COCK-UP
Our thanks to Dr Geoff Hittmann, of Mt Kembla, NSW, for sending us this story from the 8 October edition of UK newspaper the Sun.
A couple have only just realised their howler — after naming their baby son Drew Peacock. Shocked dad, Russell, only twigged when he put the name in an Internet search engine looking for famous namesakes, and was asked: “Do you mean Droopy Cock?”
The environmental health officer, 31, said, “It was as if I’d been smacked with a right hook. I can’t believe we’ve named our son ‘Droopy Cock’.
I started repeating ‘Drew Peacock’ over and over again. Then I thought — what have we done? I went numb and couldn’t speak for two minutes. Then I couldn’t stop laughing.”
Mum, Shetal Patel, 28, had also failed to spot the blunder over two-month-old Drew. She said: “I thought Russell had seen a ghost when he came away from the computer. We decided on the name a month before he was born — we both loved it straight away.”
The couple are now concerned Drew’s name will cause him problems in later life. Russell said: “People at work are already saying, ‘Hey, look there’s Droopy’s dad’. But we don’t want to change his name. It is on his birth certificate and other documents.”
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