One of the great accomplishments any patient can achieve in therapy is acceptance. Bonnie Johnson, impulsive shopping has affected your marriage. Accept that. Toby Cameron, your horrible marriage causes you to take unnecessary risks online. Accept that. Waldo Kelrast, your loneliness has resulted in an inability to let go. Accept that. Wanders, your failure to cope with reality has caused you to obsess over Mary Worth. Accept that!| The Colbert Report | Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c | |||
| Kevin Kline | ||||
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I think we've got two Worthy Award nominees today... Above is one of the best panels I've ever seen. If your therapist ever leans over you this closely, run. Then sue.
Such drama! Mary's really digging deep with her Jungian approach. So many buried emotions rising to the surface!
I think I've counted 17 different diplomas on Dr. Mike's wall, so it is no wonder he is so skilled at negotiating his fear of abandonment. Frankly, I'm still feeling abandoned by his brown hair.
Yes, we get it. Yesterday I called Mary Worth "therapist to therapists." Today, she actually begins to live out the fantasy as Dr. Mike hits his own couch where he will no doubt begin to fix his problem under Mary's laic hand. We get the irony. Still, there's something that really creeps me out about today's strip. Even more than usual.
Jenna deserves better? That's exactly what I said two days ago. 
Is this whole thing some sort of elaborate plot on Mary's part? Is she so passively aggressive, that she arranged the date in order to force Doctor Mike to confront his glaringly obvious defect, and is now suggesting that he "look into fixing it?" Of course, who better to fix Mike than Mary Worth herself, but she subtly leads him along until he reaches his own same conclusion and begs her for help. Mary Worth, therapist to therapists.
Oh, Doctor Mike. You remind me of a young Wanders, back in the days when I'd fall in love with any woman after one date if she was especially partial to walking along the water. I'd dye my hair in hopes that no one would recognize me, and then sit at home staring wistfully at my pencil or my telephone. Invariably, old ladies would come around demanding to know what was wrong with me. Ah, there's nothing quite like young love.
