She also loved to go to a therapist, a fashion stylist, a life-style guru, a dietician, a fitness coach and other such counsellors and advisers to help her in her meagre existence as a rich person.
She once told me that her therapist hypnotised her and she went back in time and discovered that she was the wife of a Roman Senator in a previous life. I smiled politely and said nothing.
She suggested, insisted even, that I go to her therapist and discover my real self. I had no intention of doing so. I knew well enough who I was by looking at the full-length mirror when I got out of the shower every morning.
She said, "OK ... how about going to a different therapist rather than mine?"
She was not very bright and had not worked out that I had no intention of visiting any therapist and had no desire to discover who I was in a previous life. Without consulting me she booked an appointment with another therapist. I was very annoyed but she was the big boss' daughter so I put my foot down and agreed to go.
Damn ... turned out I knew the guy from the golf club. I knew him vaguely but we never actually spoke.
I thought I'd go in disguise. First thing I did was to shave my beard. Then I put on a fake beard. This made me look exactly as before. So I took off my glasses and wore my spare ones. I still looked the same. I changed my normally sober tie to a bright yellow one with red spots. That did the trick. He'll never recognise me in this disguise.
He said he was going to hypnotise me and find out who I was in a previous life. I scoffed politely. He said, "Don't you believe in re-incarnation?"
I replied, "What? Come back as a tin of condensed milk?"
I don't think he understood me. I hope you have!
He said, "If you were to be re-born in a future life, what would you like to come back as?"
I said, "A chicken!"
He asked, "Why?"
I said, "If I were in a room with those very long curtains that come down to the ground, I could hide behind a curtain; then if anyone might see my feet they'd never guess it was me! They'd say, what is a chicken doing behind a curtain?"
"OH!" he said as he wrote is down on his note pad.
"Or a duck," I continued, "no one would recognise me with ducks legs. And I could waddle away into a nearby pond. Or a kangaroo, although my feet would protrude too much from under the curtain ... no ... forget about the kangaroo. What animal would you like to come back as?"
He did not reply and said our time is up.
I learnt later that my therapist had gone to see my girl-friend's therapist. They consulted each other, hypnotised each other, and convinced each other that they were Tom and Jerry.