My last wife and my hobby were going to marriage counselors. I believe we must have hit every one of them in suburban Detroit. She knew most of them by first name from her first two marriages. Her company's health insurance paid for it, so I just went along for the ride. In looking back, it was fairly entertaining. This quote certainly hits the mark as far as my experience went.

Each session with each counselor seemed to follow a similar pattern. I would let my wife bitch and moan about me until the counselor realized she was bat shit crazy. Then the counselor would give us some solid advice that made perfect sense, but my wife would not like it. She would get mad and set up an appointment with a different counselor. 

My wife finally hit pay dirt with a lesbian counselor who hated men. Her redeeming feature was she was pretty hot, like the cute tom boy shortstop on a women's parks and recreation softball team. She had that Rachel Maddow snotty, smug, know-it-all dyke thing going on and her antagonism towards me was apparent from the first session. That even made her hotter somehow. I could also tell she had a crush on my wife, and somehow that excited me too, as I have always been a big fan of lesbian erotica. I was never quite sure what made a lesbian an expert on heterosexual marriage, but I guess it is as valid as going to a priest for marital advice. This was by far my favorite counselor, as I could fantasize about my wife and her having sex and that made the time fly by. I told my wife I had no problem with her sleeping with the counselor if I could watch. I could not convince her it would make our marriage stronger.

That was the last marriage counselor though. It was time to drive a stake through this beast while I still had some tread left and life to enjoy. It was a noble experiment in being a middle class, normal person for a few years. Glad I had the experience, but being a responsible adult was like swimming underwater. I could only do it for short periods of time.