Walking down the street you notice a lady in business dress who is hitting herself over the head with a wooden mallet.
Every five or ten seconds. Bash. Bash. Bash. Never enough to be fatal but hard enough to hurt.
You’re curious, so you ask “Why are you hitting yourself with a mallet?”
She snaps at you:
“If my husband was more help at home I wouldn’t have to hit myself with this mallet and the children never tidy up their bedrooms so I have to keep hitting myself.”
Bewildered by the logic of this, you ask “Why don’t you stop hitting yourself with that mallet?”
She’s even more cross now “I’m a Taurus and that means I can’t help it. My boss expects so much of me, he makes me hit myself with this mallet and my parents never gave me the love I wanted. I’m exhausted and everyone expects so much of me and this mallet keeps hitting me in the head”
You persist. “Why don’t you stop hitting yourself with that mallet, perhaps you could think clearly if you weren’t hitting yourself all the time?”
She’s shouting now “That’s right, blame me. It’s not my fault, I never have any luck.” Bash. Bash. Bash. “If you weren’t here distracting me I’d be able to stop my head hurting. Why don’t you leave?”
You walk on. Puzzled. Behind you the sound of mallet on head fades into the distance.
Isn’t it time you realised that the only person who can put the mallet down is you?
What do you want instead?
