"Hold on a moment," Nick said, holding up his hand. "Before we start, I need to know your credentials. Are you qualified to give me therapy?"
"Well, of course, I am," the therapist said, sounding offended.
"Okay. It's just that with an IQ as low as yours, it's hard to imagine that you could help anyone but yourself. And even then ..."
Suddenly, the woman's eyes seemed less focused and she began to giggle slightly and twirl her hair with one of her fingers.
"You seem more like a bimbo than a doctor. In fact, I don't even think you are a doctor. Don't you have to go to college for that? You didn't even finish high school, did you? Or maybe you did, but barely passed?
She giggled again. "How do you, like, know all that stuff about me? Have we met before?" she asked, her voice higher pitched.
"Nope. This is the first time. So, if you're not the therapist, why are you pretending to be?"
"Oh, I'm just the secretary," she said. Before, there was no secretary, but now there was. "Your therapist will, like, be here any minute, fer sure."
Nick relaxed. "Oh, okay." He smiled at her and she smiled back. A really ditzy sort of smile that only bimbos had. This was good. He had turned a professional prim and proper in-her-fifties doctor into this mid-thirties bimbo secretary.
"I'm Candace, by the way. But you can call me Candy," she giggled.
"Oh, okay, Candy. So, do you like this job more than your last one?" he asked her.
"Last one?" she asked, not understanding what he meant. After all, after barely graduating from high school, she went on to become a part-time secretary, then kind of just stayed in that line of work. She never had a previous job.
"Yeah. Didn't you tell me that you used to ..."
