And Mary Maxim Won't Even Pay For The Therapy Bills.

What's that, Dr. Andrews? You think we should begin by talking about my childhood?  Wow. I really don't even know where to start. You see Doctor, I've spent my whole adult life thinking that I was plagued by a recuring nightmare. But, through intensive work with my last shrink, oh sorry, I forgot you don't like that word...with my last psychiatrist, I realized that the nightmares were actually repressed memories. You see, my parents had forced me into pattern modeling when I was only a small child.

Naturally, my nightmares would start with a clown. He held my hand and spoke of "miracle" yarns.

Next thing you know, I'm falling down a rabbit hole and there's a forty-five year old man in a bunny costume. He smells of menthol cigarettes and cheap whiskey. He asks us if we want to play "Carrot, Carrot, Who's Got The Carrot That I Might Have Stuck Down My Pants" but we just scream and run out of the room.

We race into the next room but there's a scarecrow dancing "the pony" while Chubby Checker plays in the background. Boogety, boogety, boogety, boogety shoo!

Then I encounter a "Mad Hatter"...and he's wearing the tackiest plaid pants I've ever seen. I try to act all casual and confident but I'm shaking on the inside.

After leaving the Mad Hatter I run right into a paper mache donkey who's been tarted up like a two-dollar whore. I don't know what the significance of this is but that donkey was wearing waaaay too much mascara.

I've almost made it out of the photographer's studio when I find the most startling horror of them - a fully grown man dressed up like a large cat. His voice is velvety smooth when he turns to me and says, "That's a nice cardigan." 

And that, Doctor, that's when I always wake up. And every time, every single time, I'm soaked with sweat and clutching a pair of knitting needles.