Freudian Cigar
The other day, I went to a memorial for a dear family friend, held at the Silent Movie Theater on Fairfax. The man was a beloved Hollywood publicist and the turnout was huge. I grew up with his daughters and hadn't seen them in ages. They're both in the biz. One of them is a prominent casting agent I've had the pleasure of working with in the past. When I walked up to give her a consoling hug, she got a funny look on her face. "Carol, are you still writing?" I nodded. Of course, I'm still writing. What else am I qualified to do? "Why do you ask?" I said. "Well, I heard you'd become a therapist." My husband and I started to laugh. "Only for my immediate family and friends," I said. "Who told you I was a therapist?" "My sister heard about a therapist named Carol Schneider." "Huh," I said. "I wonder what I'm charging."
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