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Obsession

A psychiatrist was conducting a group therapy session with four young mothers and their small children. “You all have obsessions,” he observed. To the first mother, Mary, he said, “You are obsessed with eating. You’ve even named your daughter Candy.

He turned to the second Mom, Ann: “Your obsession is with money. Again, it manifests itself in your child’s name, Penny.”

He turned to the third Mom, Joyce: “Your obsession is with alcohol. This too shows itself in your child’s name, Brandy.”

At this point, the fourth mother, Debbi, quietly got up, took her little boy by the hand and whispered, “Come on, Dick, we’re leaving.”

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Last summer, my husband, took me camping for the first time. At every opportunity, he passed along outdoor-survival lore. One day we got lost hiking in the deep woods. He tried the usual tactics to determine direction — moss on the trees (there was none), direction of the sun (it was an overcast day), etc., etc.

Just as I was beginning to panic, he spotted a small cabin off in the distance. He pulled out his binoculars, studied the cabin, turned and led us right back to our camp. “That was terrific,” I said. “How did you do it?” “Simple,” he replied. “In this part of the country all the TV satellite dishes point south.”

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