A man burst into a psychiatrist’s office, looking absolutely distraught.
“Doctor, you have to help my wife! For a year and a half now, she’s been convinced that she is a hen—a literal, clucking chicken!”
The psychiatrist pushed his glasses up his nose and scribbled in his notebook.
“A year and a half? That is a very long time for a delusion to take root. Why on earth did you wait until now to bring her in for treatment?”
The man scratched his head, looking a bit sheepish.
“To be honest, Doc… the economy has been tough lately. I figured I’d wait and see if she actually started laying eggs. If she did, I wouldn’t have to buy breakfast every morning, and I might even have had a nice organic egg business on the side.”
The doctor stared at him, horrified.
“Are you insane? You let your wife suffer through a mental breakdown just for the sake of some imaginary eggs? Well, what happened? Did you finally come to your senses?”
The man let out a long, heavy sigh, the picture of pure disappointment.
“That’s exactly why I’m here today…”
The doctor relaxed slightly, thinking there was hope.
“Ah, so you finally realized that your wife’s health is more important than your bank account?”
The man shook his head vigorously.
“No, Doc. After eighteen months of waiting, she didn’t lay a single egg. Instead, yesterday she started trying to jump onto the roof to crow at 5:00 AM. I realized that if she’s transitioning into a rooster, my entire ‘egg startup’ is officially bankrupt! Please, cure her fast—keeping a ‘chicken’ that doesn’t produce is a total net loss!”
The psychiatrist: “…” (Speechless, he immediately signed a referral to move the husband to the padded cell next door).
