"Maybe I'm a slutty little girl trapped in a man's body," I tell Schneiderman."That would explain the Betty Boop boxer shorts I'm wearing."

"And how does that strike you?" Schneiderman asks Marcy.

"Underwear is not our problem. I can live with the underwear."

"Maybe," I say, "I'm one of those she-males you see in the back of the Village Voice, who have the breasts of a woman and the genitals of a man. I used to have dreams like that when I was a kid."

"See," Marcy says, "it's much bigger than underwear."

"Yes," Schneiderman says, "although actually, even I occasionally like to put on one of my wife's thongs."

Oh this is great. This is the guy who's going to handle our sex problems, and he's sitting there wearing lady's underwear? At least the Betty Boops are boxer shorts-- men's. This guy is over the top. I cannot believe this. Under his breath, he's singing: You must have been a beautiful baby, 'cause baby look at you now. Later I talk it over with Marcy:

"How can we stay with him? How can we talk about our sex life with this guy, knowing he might be sitting there in his wife's lace panties? No, it's out of the question."

"Sometimes shrinks intentionally use self-disclosure as a way of gaining the patient's trust," Marcy says.

"Did you read that somewhere? He has gained my trust-- I trust that he's a wacko, and I trust that he has an alternate source of income apart from our 125 bucks."

"Okay, but we have to do something. The Lap Dancer episode shall not go unpunished."

So it's good-bye Schneiderman. No more poking your nose around in my personal history. I call Baumgartner to tell him.

[1]       [2]       3       [4]       [next->] Image: Jonathan Borofsky, Man with a Briefcase at No. 3274693 (1990)