Milkman: Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man. Good morning, madam, I'm a psychiatrist.
Mrs. Pim: You look like a milkman to me.
Milkman: [ticks a box on his clipboard] Good, I am in fact dressed as a milkman... you spotted that. Well done.
Mrs. Pim: Go away.
Milkman: Now then, madam, I'm going to show you three numbers and I want you to tell me if you notice any similarity between them.
[holds up a card with the number "3' on it three times]
Mrs. Pim: They're all number three.
Milkman: No. Try again.
Mrs. Pim: They're *all* number three?
Milkman: No. They're *all* number three.
[writes]
Milkman: Right. Now, I'm going to say a word and I want you to say the first thing that comes into yout head. How many pints do you want?
Mrs. Pim: Er... three?
Milkman: Yoghurt?
Mrs. Pim: Er... no.
Milkman: Cream?
Mrs. Pim: No.
Milkman: Eggs?
Mrs. Pim: No.
Milkman: [writes] Right. Well, you're quite clearly suffering from a repressive libido complex, probably the product of an unhappy childhood, coupledwith acute insecurity in adolescence, which has resulted in an attenuation of the libido complex.
Mrs. Pim: You *are* a bloody milkman!
Milkman: Don't you shout at me, madam, don't come that tone. Now then, I must ask you to accompany me down to the dairy and do some aptitude tests.
Mrs. Pim: I've got better things to do than come down to the dairy!
Milkman: Mrs. Ratbag! If you don't mind my saying so, you are badly in need of an expensive course of psychiatric treatment. Now I'm not going to say that a trip down to our dairy will cure you, but it will give hundreds of lower-paid workers a good laugh.
Mrs. Pim: All right... but how am I going to get home?
Milkman: I'll run you there and back in my psychiatrist's float.
Mrs. Pim: ...All right.
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