I get the feeling you have issues ...

He said/she said.

Well, actually, it’s “her therapist said/my therapist said.”

You see, I tend to only date women who have therapists. Oddly enough, I’ve noticed if they don’t have one when we first meet, they usually get one soon. Gone are the days when being in therapy carried any trace of stigma. Now it’s: “You’re not in therapy? Is anything wrong?”

If you don’t know, therapy is where you sit on a couch next to a strategically placed box of Kleenex and explain to a perfect stranger why all your relationships go sour by the second date. Then you write a check. Honestly, I think my therapist should pay me for the entertainment value.

I usually begin our weekly session puzzled. “Things were going so well,” I’ll begin. “We saw a movie, but then wound up in an argument. I ended the day drenched in Sprite, sweat and Hot Tamales.”

“Interesting,” my therapist nods. “So how did that make you feel?”

“Sticky.”

Therapists are forever asking how things make you feel. As in, “How did that make you feel when your date said you were the most difficult person she had ever met?” And, “How did you feel when she said no woman outside the federal prison system would ever date you?”

It all goes back to your childhood. Apparently, if you grow up in a hostile home with family members fighting all the time, you wind up taking your anger out on your partner. And if you grow up in a calm, loving home, you wind up taking your anger out on your partner. Either way, it’s a nightmare. I remember lots of yelling and screaming in my house. And that was just over breakfast. By dinner, no one was speaking to each other. It was tense, but at least you could get some reading done.

Some people use their friends as therapists, but you can only do this for a short time. My friends, for example, tend to doze off and drop the phone during my most intimate confessions, but I do have reason to believe their dogs are listening. Once, a chocolate Lab casually suggested I try yoga, but I’m not ready to take advice from anyone who chews furniture.

Your therapist will note that anything said during your session is confidential. But that doesn’t stop me from trying to pry information out of whomever I’m dating. It’s the ultimate fishing expedition. The object is to find out whose side her therapist has taken in your most recent spat. Therapists often side with the person writing the check, except for mine, who feels my personality practically guarantees another long summer of sitting home waiting for the Netflix envelope to arrive.

Still, I try. “So, did you and your therapist talk about our fight in the movie theater?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“And, she thinks that you should ask your therapist why you’re so cold and unemotional.”

“Really?” I counter. “I’ll have you know my therapist thinks your therapist can bite me.”

I suppose we could do “couples” therapy, but which therapist would we use? I mean, who would get home therapist advantage? Perhaps both could attend.

Hers: “My client believes your client has anger issues.”

Mine: “My client believes he’s rubber and your client’s glue. Anything that she says bounces off him and sticks to you ... I mean her.”

Maybe I’ll send my next girlfriend’s therapist flowers. Just to score some points. I wonder how that would make her feel.