erman accent.) It is reported that in her entire career no couple who came to her for counseling ever got divorced before their therapy bills were paid up. If that's not a phenomenal feat, I don't know what is.

My visit with Dr. Krestheimer began with a direct question: "What can you tell me about incompatibility?"

"Vell, I tell you saamsing," she responded in her heavy Chinese-Bulgarian accent, "faanny you shoood esk about incompaataabeelity. Just lest veek vee did an experiment on dis saabject vit a particle accelerator. You know vat is dis a particle accelerator?" I said, "Physicists use that. Aren't you a psy

What makes two people incompatible? How do you recognize the elements of incompatibility?

Many lucky relationships take off like a rocket and, in spite of occasional ups and downs, last a lifetime. However, a great number of relationships don't fare so well. Why? What makes two people incompatible? How do you recognize the elements of incompatibility? And how do you avoid getting entangled in a no-win situation?

These and other such crucial questions will not be answered in this article. Mainly, because of space problems. Secondly, because I haven't the faintest idea what the answers are. If I did, I'd buy a big couch, a good clock, and bill clients by the nanoseconds.

But analyzing a few case histories may at least help shed some light on the matter. After that, who knows, the answers may be just around the corner.

One case worth recounting is Bernie's. (Bernie was not his real name. His parents never told him his real name.) Bernie went out with this girl for four months before realizing that the only thing he had in common with her was a Maytag repairman. In the end, he said the relationship taught him that when a "spin cycle" begins to look more like a "slow rinse" it's time to hang it up to dry. Now he's going out with someone more compatible, and he's bubbling with joy.

Then, there was this married couple who, although both were sports buffs, was incompatible because, ironically, they had something else in common -- both had to have the last word. Watching them argue was like watching a baseball game go into eighty-seven innings. Hardly a day passed that the "game" was "rained out." One heated argument resulted in the tossing of all their china ware at each other -- they referred to it as "The World Series." Actually, in a strange sort of way, they seemed to enjoy their shouting and carrying on. But the marriage almost ended in divorce when she got laryngitis. Their marriage counselor recommended a live-in umpire. Eventually, they learned to adjust to their problem -- now, before every argument, they sing The Star-Spangled Banner.

Another couple got divorced for religious reasons -- she worshipped money, he had none.

To assist in the analysis of the problems of incompatibility, I decided to enlist the help of an old friend, a world-renowned psychologist, a genius without equal, a legend on her own couch, a master of treacherous love affairs, Dr. Tootsie Krestheimer. (Her mentor is the noted sexologist Dr. Ruthy Westheimer with the heavy German accent.) It is reported that in her entire career no couple who came to her for counseling ever got divorced before their therapy bills were paid up. If that's not a phenomenal feat, I don't know what is.

My visit with Dr. Krestheimer began with a direct question: "What can you tell me about incompatibility?"

"Vell, I tell you saamsing," she responded in her heavy Chinese-Bulgarian accent, "faanny you shoood esk about incompaataabeelity. Just lest veek vee did an experiment on dis saabject vit a particle accelerator. You know vat is dis a particle accelerator?" I said, "Physicists use that. Aren't you a psyc

couch, a good clock, and bill clients by the nanoseconds.

But analyzing a few case histories may at least help shed some light on the matter. After that, who knows, the answers may be just around the corner.

One case worth recounting is Bernie's. (Bernie was not his real name. His parents never told him his real name.) Bernie went out with this girl for four months before realizing that the only thing he had in common with her was a Maytag repairman. In the end, he said the relationship taught him that when a "spin cycle" begins to look more like a "slow rinse" it's time to hang it up to dry. Now he's going out with someone more compatible, and he's bubbling with joy.

Then, there was this married couple who, although both were sports buffs, was incompatible because, ironically, they had something else in common -- both had to have the last word. Watching them argue was like watching a baseball game go into eighty-seven innings. Hardly a day passed that the "game" was "rained out." One heated argument resulted in the tossing of all their china ware at each other -- they referred to it as "The World Series." Actually, in a strange sort of way, they seemed to enjoy their shouting and carrying on. But the marriage almost ended in divorce when she got laryngitis. Their marriage counselor recommended a live-in umpire. Eventually, they learned to adjust to their problem -- now, before every argument, they sing The Star-Spangled Banner.

Another couple got divorced for religious reasons -- she worshipped money, he had none.

To assist in the analysis of the problems of incompatibility, I decided to enlist the help of an old friend, a world-renowned psychologist, a genius without equal, a legend on her own couch, a master of treacherous love affairs, Dr. Tootsie Krestheimer. (Her mentor is the noted sexologist Dr. Ruthy Westheimer with the heavy German accent.) It is reported that in her entire career no couple who came to her for counseling ever got divorced before their therapy bills were paid up. If that's not a phenomenal feat, I don't know what is.

My visit with Dr. Krestheimer began with a direct question: "What can you tell me about incompatibility?"

"Vell, I tell you saamsing," she responded in her heavy Chinese-Bulgarian accent, "faanny you shoood esk about incompaataabeelity. Just lest veek vee did an experiment on dis saabject vit a particle accelerator. You know vat is dis a particle accelerator?" I said, "Physicists use that. Aren't you a psy

th someone more compatible, and he's bubbling with joy.

Then, there was this married couple who, although both were sports buffs, was incompatible because, ironically, they had something else in common -- both had to have the last word. Watching them argue was like watching a baseball game go into eighty-seven innings. Hardly a day passed that the "game" was "rained out." One heated argument resulted in the tossing of all their china ware at each other -- they referred to it as "The World Series." Actually, in a strange sort of way, they seemed to enjoy their shouting and carrying on. But the marriage almost ended in divorce when she got laryngitis. Their marriage counselor recommended a live-in umpire. Eventually, they learned to adjust to their problem -- now, before every argument, they sing The Star-Spangled Banner.

Another couple got divorced for religious reasons -- she worshipped money, he had none.

To assist in the analysis of the problems of incompatibility, I decided to enlist the help of an old friend, a world-renowned psychologist, a genius without equal, a legend on her own couch, a master of treacherous love affairs, Dr. Tootsie Krestheimer. (Her mentor is the noted sexologist Dr. Ruthy Westheimer with the heavy German accent.) It is reported that in her entire career no couple who came to her for counseling ever got divorced before their therapy bills were paid up. If that's not a phenomenal feat, I don't know what is.

My visit with Dr. Krestheimer began with a direct question: "What can you tell me about incompatibility?"

"Vell, I tell you saamsing," she responded in her heavy Chinese-Bulgarian accent, "faanny you shoood esk about incompaataabeelity. Just lest veek vee did an experiment on dis saabject vit a particle accelerator. You know vat is dis a particle accelerator?" I said, "Physicists use that. Aren't you a psy

ivorce when she got laryngitis. Their marriage counselor recommended a live-in umpire. Eventually, they learned to adjust to their problem -- now, before every argument, they sing The Star-Spangled Banner.

Another couple got divorced for religious reasons -- she worshipped money, he had none.

To assist in the analysis of the problems of incompatibility, I decided to enlist the help of an old friend, a world-renowned psychologist, a genius without equal, a legend on her own couch, a master of treacherous love affairs, Dr. Tootsie Krestheimer. (Her mentor is the noted sexologist Dr. Ruthy Westheimer with the heavy German accent.) It is reported that in her entire career no couple who came to her for counseling ever got divorced before their therapy bills were paid up. If that's not a phenomenal feat, I don't know what is.

My visit with Dr. Krestheimer began with a direct question: "What can you tell me about incompatibility?"

"Vell, I tell you saamsing," she responded in her heavy Chinese-Bulgarian accent, "faanny you shoood esk about incompaataabeelity. Just lest veek vee did an experiment on dis saabject vit a particle accelerator. You know vat is dis a particle accelerator?" I said, "Physicists use that. Aren't you a psy

erman accent.) It is reported that in her entire career no couple who came to her for counseling ever got divorced before their therapy bills were paid up. If that's not a phenomenal feat, I don't know what is.

My visit with Dr. Krestheimer began with a direct question: "What can you tell me about incompatibility?"

"Vell, I tell you saamsing," she responded in her heavy Chinese-Bulgarian accent, "faanny you shoood esk about incompaataabeelity. Just lest veek vee did an experiment on dis saabject vit a particle accelerator. You know vat is dis a particle accelerator?" I said, "Physicists use that. Aren't you a psychologist?" Impatiently, she replied, "I dabble in everysing! Jaast enswer ze qvestion!" I said, "Yes. It's an apparatus physicists use to accelerate subatomic particles to high velocities to determine what other particles or energy will be released upon collision." She said, "Very good. You maast hev vone at home." I said, "I have two -- one in the kitchen, one in the bedroom." She continued, "Zo, instead of subatomic particles, vee pud in a male und a female rat vit contrasting personalities, und vee accelerated zem to sree [3] times ze speed zat zey voood normally run to get a piece of cheese." I interrupted, "What do you call contrasting personalities in rats?" She said, "Vone eats aap ze whole cheese aaz soon aaz you give it to heem, und ze ozer vone bakes ah shtrudel vit it." I said, "I see. Those are definitely contrasting personalities."

She went on: "After a few minutes, I und my rat specialist heard ze female rat sqveeking. Ze specialist tells me she vas saying, 'I'm not enjoying zis trip! Zis vasn't my idea. Zis is ze lest trip I'm taking vit you. Ven vee get beck, I vant to speak to my lawyer." Dr. Krestheimer slammed down hard on her desk and exclaimed, "Zo, zere you hev it! Ze proof is in ze shtrudel!" I said, "You mean, pudding." She said, "Please, dun't mix aap my experiments." I asked, "So what does this prove?" She said, "It proooves zat ven two people are incompaateeble, vone mate shoood not pressure ze ozer vone to go on a trip if he or she does not vant to go."

Not quite grasping how she arrived at this conclusion, I demanded, "A rat squeaking in an a particle accelerator? How does this prove anything?" Angrily, she shouted, "Eenaaf of zis! Get out of my office! Vat do you know about rats?! You dun't even know how to bake ah shtrudel! In ze time I vasted vit you I coood hev made eenaaf maaney to buy a brend new couch und sree more condos! Out!"

Only several hours after leaving Dr. Krestheimer's office did I realize the implications of her experiment. Reading between the lines, I deduced that incompatibility is not necessarily irreversible -- two people with vastly different temperaments can learn to adjust to one another's idiosyncrasies. With this new awareness, I set out to explore relationships which I had previously considered unsuitable.

I am now going out with a girl who is seven inches taller than me, speaks only Slovak, and doesn't go out on a third date unless you open a joint account and write her into your will. How do we get along