As long anticipated, my water heater was dying, maybe already given up the ghost.

"Damn," I said as I resigned myself to an uninviting cold shower. "Maybe I can get through this without turning completely blue."

As I often do when confronted by one of life's unpleasant realities I wondered: (a) how the situation could be remedied with the least effort on my part—my typical reaction to similar situations borders on calling 911, and (b) how much will it cost.

"This'll cost me a fortune," I sighed. "Water heaters are more expensive than Hondas."

Once the initial catastrophizing subsides my next tact is to put things in perspective. "Well, it ain't like I need a heart transplant." Comparing my present tragedy to something imagined with more gravity often provides some relief.

But a better ploy, a more effective tool, is comparing my situation to someone else's predicament.

A scene from an episode of the Soprano's sprang to mind. In this episode Tony Soprano interrupts important crime business to rush home mysteriously. In the following scene the audience witnesses a chagrined Tony sloshing around in knee water while wading through his basement.

"Eh, even Tony Soprano's water heater died," I comforted myself. A mild wave of embarrassment swept over me. Fancying myself above such things I found myself groping first for a comparison from TV—bubble gum for the brain.

"Hey, it works," I reasoned. "If it can happen to Tony, it can happen to me." And just like Tony had taken care of things, I knew I'd handle the situation.

That's what a PhD in counseling has done for me—relying on comparisons with characters from TV gangster shows for solace.

I'm not proud, but it works.

Just don't tell anyone you read this, or I'll tell Tony.