We haven’t really gotten to the heart of the matter that landed me in therapy, have we? And the clock’s a-tickin’. Very soon I’ll be back on farm property, at which point I’ll have to figure out a way to summon some semblance of composure.
So, let’s see what else Dr. Typepad has up his sleeve:
Him: I had an idea that might help you work through some of your feelings for the Farmer that you haven’t felt like discussing so far. Why don’t we try role-playing?
Me: (sigh) Fine. But, only if I get to be the Farmer.
Him: Well, I was thinking I would be the Farmer and you would be yourself…
Him: …but since you’re the patient, we’ll try it your way.
Me: Okay. How do we start?
Him: Let’s set the stage. You should pick a location that makes you feel comfortable.
Me: Hmmmm...oh, I know. There are these stairs in the horse barn that go way the hell up to somewhere. I’ve always wondered what it’s like up there.
Him: Probably just a hayloft. But all right, if that’s what you want. So, since I’m you, why don’t I begin so you can feel empowered by the fact that you’re initiating the dialogue?
Me: Yeah, whatever’s going to make this go faster.
Him: Are you ready? So, Farmer. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’ve been experiencing feelings that go beyond the typical Farmer/CSA member relationship and I was hoping we could talk about them. Now you.
Me: Okay, um…I’m glad you brought this up, Tammy, because ever since that day we met, when you were trying to unstake the tomatoes with an incompetence never before seen on a farm, I can’t get you out of my mind.
Him: Okay, stop. The idea here is that you try to be realistic about his response.
Me: No, it’s true. I totally sucked with those tomatoes.
Him: As the farmer, you want to be receptive, but not too forthcoming. Remember, this may not be an entirely welcome development.
Him: Let’s try it again. Here we go. So, Farmer, given the standard Farmer/CSA member interaction as outlined by the Massachusetts Department of Agriculture, I’d rather address these feelings now to avoid any potential misunderstandings.
Me: Okay, this is stupid. That’s not even how I talk.
Him: Well, how would you say it, then?
Me: I don’t know. Something like, you know, this probably isn’t what the Eat Local people had in mind when they talk about forging new relationships with local growers. But none of the Locavore literature warned me about this. And Drumlin’s web site certainly didn’t offer up any clues. I’m used to just going to the store and all the vegetables are laid out all shiny and pretty, like storks dropped them out of the sky or something. It’s kind of a sterile arrangement, I guess, so I wasn’t prepared for the close and sudden bond you feel with the kind stranger who feeds you. How intimate the relationship between cook and farmer would be. Not intimate that way, necessarily, but you know, I mean, the way he pulls stuff out of the ground with his bare hands? No, scratch that part. But, you see how much work goes into it, how much care, and everything tastes sooooo good. …Um, you’re standing kind of close, don’t you think?
Him: Kiss me.
Me: What?? I’m not supposed to be kissing the Farmer, remember?
Him: Special circumstances.
What is up with my therapist, can somebody please tell me?
So, whatever, I kissed him. Was that wrong?