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@RonnieOatmilk
Pablo Picasso had a problem: all he could paint nowadays was salad. Admitting at last that he needed psychiatric help, he took a few paintings of arugula to the rue de Lille, to show to Lacan, his private doctor.
When Picasso saw a celebrated art dealer waiting at the Solférino Métro station, he didn’t want the word getting around that he could only paint arugula, so he shamefacedly left his work behind him on the train.
Reaching Lacan’s waiting room, he was astonished to see his paintings already hanging on the wall, beautifully framed and signed with a grandiloquent flourish. “You should know by now,” Lacan beamed, “that a lettuce always arrives at its destination.”