Ms Prim and Ms Proper.....become psychotherapists for a day!

For Mses Prim and Proper there was rarely a dull moment. Daily life was a thing that they could get lost in easily. Getting lost was Ms Proper’s forte and she sometimes took the Sat Nav out with her when she went to the garden.

Ms Prim was more of dreamer and she loved to make plans that hardly ever came to fruition. Like the time she decided to build a rockery but couldn’t find enough rocks! There was also the time when she decided to launch her own range of home made beauty products and then found out that some of the ingredients were toxic. Ms Proper had been the guinea pig and was slathered in Prim’s version of “Spinach and Couscous” facial scrub. Even Poupou had turned up his nose at the bright green face that Proper had sported for days.

So when a bargain popped into Ms Proper’s inbox : “PSYCHOTHERAPIST FOR A DAY” for two people, she promptly signed her and Prim on it. The next week both Prim and Proper were kitted out in their clinical, white coats as they learnt the art of psycho-analysis. They both received certificates and now all they had to do was find some willing people to test out their new expertise.

As they passed the coffee-shop, they spied Ms Fake-Tan, Ms Vajazzle and Ms Down-Trodden.

“Those should be interesting subjects,”said Proper entering the shop and handing them all appointment cards.

“What’s this for?” asked Vajazzle, lifting a manicured eyebrow.

“Some cosmetic surgery you might be interested in,” said Proper.

“Oooh yes,” squealed Fake-Tan,” can you give me a permanent colour?

“I’d love some work done on my Downton-Abbey,” said Vajazzle pointing to her nether regions.

Ms Down-Trodden didn’t say a word but Prim and Proper knew that she needed a full transplant….of her brain!

“See you all at 3pm!” trilled Proper and grabbed Prim.

“What sort of cosmetic surgery are we going to give them?” asked Prim.

“A mental makeover,” replied Proper, “we’re going to give their brain a good wash and re-modify their thought patterns.”

Wow, Prim was impressed.

“And what shall I do?”

“You’ll take down notes, make the tea and provide first aid.”

Prim looked a little crestfallen but Proper was the doctor and she’d just better swallow the medicine…even if was bitter!

First to arrive was Fake-Tan. She sauntered in dressed in a slinky white top and white, Bermuda shorts with gold sandals.

“This is my Monte-Carlo look, dah-ling!”

“Lie down on the couch,” commanded Proper, “ we’re going to play a word association game.”

“Sunshine”

“Sex”

“Ageing”

“Sex”

“Joan Collins!”

“Look in the mirror,” said Proper instructing Prim to thrust one in front of Fake-Tan.

“Ugh, it’s horrible,” cried F-T as she gazed at her leathery skin.

“Exactly,” said Proper,” your skin looks like an eighty-year-old woman’s!”

“But I thought I looked hip and trendy; all the guys on the beach really dig it.”

“They’re lying!” said Prim,” just humouring you. You’re mutton dressed as horsemeat!”

Proper gave her a magnifying mirror and F-T shrieked in horror.

“I look positively ghoulish!”

“You’d probably get a part in that new vampire movie!” said Prim, scribbling down an idea for a novel.

“OMG, I never realised I looked so hideous!” wailed F-T,” what can I do?”

Proper adjusted her glasses; all psychotherapists wore glasses didn’t they?

“I suggest you stop spraying that nasty stuff on your skin and go for the nude look.”

“Nude is rude!” quipped Prim, who had delicate sensibilities.

“Nude is the new bronze; and you need a large dose of it,” said Proper, throwing her assistant a look of disdain, ”your pores are clogged and your look is more Peckham Rye at the moment.”

F-T dissolved into tears but she knew that Proper was right.

“Next” said Proper, feeling rather pleased with herself.

Prim showed in Ms Vajazzle who was wearing a black boob tube (even though it was the middle of November)  neon pink lurex leggings and a leather jacket.

“There’s nothing wrong with me so I don’t know why I’m here,” said Vajazzle, crossing her legs.

“Uncross those legs, you need to breathe!” said Proper firmly.

“Eh?

“Your issue is that your lower region tissues  are suffocated with fripperies!”

“It’s like having an alien growing inside you,” interjected Prim.

“Shuut Up,” said Vajazzle,” the only thing that’s growing inside me is healthy bacteria.”

“Bacteria, my dear, is never healthy…..especially in that part of your anatomy.”

Vajazzle knew that these two were a bit psycho and in need of therapy themselves.

“So what’s the deal?”

“I believe you need a strict programme of celibacy,” said Proper noticing that Prim’s eyes widening like saucers.

“Celi…what?” asked Vajazzle

“Celebrity,” responded Prim,” I love looking through “Hello” magazine and seeing what Posh and Becks get up to and those WAG’s”.

“You two should pop in to my “Slut Hut” where we do pole and lap dancing classes with a few cocktails thrown in,” said Vajazzle.

“I’m talking about celibacy, abstinence, denial, sacrifice and renunciation of carnal desires,” said Proper, with a righteous air.

“Is that even English?” asked Prim, struggling to get the spelling right.

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Vajazzle, “you bring your love rabbit to the Hut and the girls and me will give you an all over pamper session.”

“All over?”

Vajazzle nodded, “ every part of your body is going to be refreshed and relaxed.”

Prim quivered with excitement; it was long time since she’d relaxed her pelvic floor muscles and Proper could do with a little sphincter muscle massage.

Proper was rather miffed that she’d called Poupou, a love rabbit. He was doctored and devoted to celibacy, just like her.

Vajazzle staggered off the couch, waving as she went.

“Not much success there then,” said Proper.

“Into each life, a little failure must fall,” sang Prim softly, “ but too much is falling into ours.”

“Next,” shrilled Proper, drowning out Prim’s singing.

Ms Down-Trodden shuffled onto the couch.

“I…I…’m not sure you can help me,” she said.

Proper looked at her drawn face and sallow complexion.

“What’s the matter?” she said gently.

“I’ve fallen in love,” whispered D-T.

“Love. It’s a beautiful word but that’s all it is……,” said Proper, shaking her head.

“Don’t listen to her,” said Prim kindly, “ he must be wonderful.”

“I think so,” said D-T meekly, “but I can’t cope.”

“Come, come, love makes your heart sing and puts a spring in your step. You just can’t stop smilin’cos you’re floating on air and you’ve got butterflies in your stomach,” explained Prim.

“I’ve got caterpillars in my stomach and a lump of lead in my throat,” said D-T, bursting into tears.

Who is this man?” asked Proper.

“Mr Narcissist!” said D-T, sobbing.

Oh dear thought Prim and Proper together, this was a hopeless case. You’ll never float on air with a Narcissist, more likely to sink into the murky depths of despair.

“You poor thing,” sympathised Prim.

“Get rid of him; drop him like a hot potato,” ordered Proper.

“But I love him,” cried D-T.

“Don’t be foolish…there’s nothing to lovable about a man who’s in love with himself….and he’s certainly not in love with you!”

Ms D-T suddenly had a epiphany.

“You’re right he’s doesn’t  know what love is. It’s just a word that he uses like a bait to pull at my heart strings.”

“I recommend that you keep your heart under lock and key and never let a man open it unless he’s gone through the twelve step programme.” said Proper.

“Or use a locksmith,” said Prim helpfully.

“This therapy has been rather wearing and we need something strong, handsome and calming,” said Prim.

“A good cup of green tea, that’ll perk us up.”

Proper brewed up and the three ladies felt that each of them had had a productive day.

“Don’t think I could do this therapy lark all day,” said Proper, “ it’s so wearing.”

“No let’s leave it to Mr Kyle and Oprah – the Narcissist Hunters,” said Prim thinking that D-T would probably find a session at the “Slut Hut” more useful. Prim was certainly looking forward to her own session, dancing in laps and around the Maypole sounded just her cup of tea!