Ernest felt jammed. This woman was unpredictable. He had not anticipated such rough sailing for his maiden voyage of total disclosure, and was strongly tempted to head for the calm waters of analytic neutrality. He knew that course by rote: it would be simple enough to say, “I wonder why you’re asking these questions,” or “I wonder what your fantasies are about my being in the singles world.” But such devious neutrality, such inauthenticity, was precisely what Ernest had vowed to avoid. What to do?
