Marty was afraid to go to bed at night. Ever since childhood, he’d been afraid someone—or something—was lurking under his bed. Finally, he went to see a psychiatrist and explained his problem.
Dr. Adams said, “I’m sure we can cure that in a year or so. Just talk to the receptionist and set up three sessions a week.”
“How much will each session cost?”
“A hundred dollars.”
Marty was taken aback. “Let me mull that over, Doc. It’s a lot of money.”
A couple months later Marty ran into Dr. Adams at the grocery store. “How is that sleep problem coming along? Still have monsters under your bed?” the doctor asked.
“No, doc, I don’t. See I was at the motorcycle dealership and I was looking at this real beauty. I got to talking to the saleslady about my problem and what you’d charge to cure it. I suppose you know that a hundred bucks a visit times three visits a week times fifty-some weeks adds up to quite a big amount. I just couldn’t afford both you and the bike. But she cured me, and I bought the bike.”
“How did she cure you?”
“She had me cut the legs off my bed.”
