It’s not something you need go to a psychiatrist about. JOAN PAUL doesn’t, but some people do.
“Rest comfortably on the couch, please. Comfy? Nice and relaxed? Good. Now then, what’s the trouble?”
“I’ve got a mania.’’
“Oh, have you? So have I. I was thinking of going to a psychiatrist about it.” “But you’re a psychiatrist yourself.”
“I can’t help that, we’ve all got our problems. Now about my mania—it comes over me mostly in the park.”
“Excuse me, but I’m the patient, it’s my mania I’ve come to discuss with you, not yours. Look, see that, I’ve got one leg in the air.”
“Is that your mania?”
“No, that’s my cramp. My mania is to do with mini-skirts. The whole thing is a terrible worry to me and I can’t sleep at nights.”
“Why is it such a worry?”
“I keep thinking they’ll go out of fashion. Ouch, there goes my cramp again.”
When one realises just how scintillating Joan is in her mini, one can’t help sympathising with all men who worry about when it will all end.