Dear Profs,
Every morning I wake up, and I know only two things about myself. I am a typist and a virgin. I have $7 to spend. Should I get some glasses at the dollar store so I don't have to squint at work, or should I get a pink lipstick and some cold coffee? I know nothing except that I will miss myself so much when I am dead.
Chastely Unaware,
Macabea Dearest Chastey,
Oh, to be blissfully unaware! We at Poppycock advise you to go for the makeup and the coffee. The spectacles you suggest will only give you a headache, as you apparently don't possess the wherewithal or collateral to visit a proper optometrist. The lipstick will not actually improve your appearance, and indeed may enhance any innate clown-like properties already residing within, but there is little that cheers up a blue girl like pink lipstick, and without the glasses to see yourself, you will be none the wiser. Cold coffee is better than no coffee, and you can always doctor it with enough sugar to choke it down. Besides, there will probably be a few desperately poor young men hanging around the coffee shop in search of a cheap date. Just don't agree to go dutch, alright?
Dear Poppycock,
I work in a small, rather quiet office where something rather awkward is occurring. There is a young gentleman who sidles around the halls all day long making the ladies very uncomfortable, both with the slow deliberation of his demeanor and with the unfortunate display of his woman-butt in trousers which embrace it with alarming ferocity. How should we go about suggesting that he limit his rambles to one or two per day, and also introduce the idea that there might be a more flattering approach to menswear?
Signed,
Nervous in New York
My Dear Nervous,
While there's technically no protocol for confronting one's co-worker with the grievous fact that he has a woman-butt, there are some simple measures you can take to minimize his sidling, which is a common symptom of advanced Creepy Guy Syndrome. In general, hints and insinuations are wasted on men. Therefore nothing but the frankest of booby traps will be effective. I suggest tiger pits artfully disguised by palm fronds, hidden wires that can be pulled taut as he dawdles by, strategically placed barbed wire barricades, and I think some variation on the tar and feathers gag is not uncalled for. Be creative. Banana peels. Roller skates. A footstep-activated fog horn to the face. Anything that makes the thought "Perhaps I'd better sit quietly at my desk today" dawn ever so slowly in his mind.
Addressing his woman-butt situation will take some gentle diplomacy as it is a serious affliction for the modern office-working man. Before he can get the help he needs with that, he must embrace the fact that he needs help. For more information on how to stage an intervention for the man who has woman-butt in your life, please see my new pamphlet "Woman-butt and You”.
Dear Profs.
My husband wants me to be a surrogate mother to his boss' child in order to advance his career at Circuit City and pick up some money to pay off our debts. But I'm all like "What?!" I don't want none of that stretch mark shit. The thing is, I'm already sleeping with his boss to make ends meet and it ain't like anybody wants a pregnant mistress, you know what I mean? My husband is kind of dumb but I love him, you know? So do I trade in my perfectly profitable affair for a one-time lump sum and a baby bump? Or do I knock my husband upside the head like usual and tell him to shut his trap?
Womb for rent in Wyoming,
(Wynetta)
Dear WWW,
Poppycock refuses to answer queries from such a low caliber of person. Perhaps Dear Abby would be a more suitable venue for your concerns, although I do wonder how you'll manage to raise the money for the stamp.
Dear Poppycock,
I am forty nine years old and haven't been on a date since the third grade when I shared a soda with Timmy Moran. I spend a lot of time knitting, reading Jane Austen, and crying into my single cups of chamomile tea. I am afraid that I will become a spinster. My question is, is it absolutely for me to own cats if this is the case? I'm awfully allergic, and, well, I just don't like them.
Signed,
Anti-feline and Alone in Abilene. Dear Anti-feline,
First of all, I regret to inform you that your fear is no longer in the future tense--change that "will become a spinster" to a "have become a spinster" and you'll be on the right track. Welcome to the sisterhood. Secondly, the cat thing is certainly a very cliched symbol of spinsterhood. As a writer, I must and shall condemn cliche in any of its insidious expressions. On the other hand, knitting with Jane Austen isn't exactly a bold new idea for spinsters either. May I suggest a happy medium between the ordinary and the outrageous? Embellish your spinsterhood with both tea and tattoos, knitting and narcotics, Jane Austen and Japanese horror movies. Forget the cat and get a peacock of course! If it was good enough for Flannery, that patron saint of spinsters, it will do for you too. You may never be loved by a man (or woman if that's your fancy) but damn it if you aren't the weird neighborhood lady with wild eyes and wilder hair who instills fear and awe in the hearts of schoolchildren and dogs.
Respected Professors,
I am in the middle of a messy divorce and I find that my ex has absconded with most of my books. At what point is it appropriate to raid and pillage his home, theoretically speaking?
Inwardly Irate in Ilkwood Dear Triple I,
In a word, NOW. You are also quite within the limits of the law if you a.) pee on his plants, b.) tell his new significant other that he pees on his plants, or c.) tie him to a chair and make him watch while you destroy every single one of his precious video games. No one, I repeat, NO ONE has the right to deprive you of a single one of your treasured books. If you need backup, please don't hesitate to give us a call.
Professors De Busque and P'ohlig,
What is the appropriate length of time one should wait after a date to call a boy? Things seem to have gone well, but it's been twenty minutes since he dropped me off and I haven't heard a thing, even though he promised he would call. My mother says it's like Dorothy Parker would have quipped: "When a woman says she'll call she means when she gets the chance. When a man says he'll call he means before he dies." So now I'm torn -- do I call him or the police?
Sincerely,
Itchy Trigger Finger in IndianapolisDear Itchy Trigger,
We here at Poppycock are firm believers in girls not waiting by the phone. History, common sense, and self-respect forbid it. Find something constructive or alcoholic to do, by all means. If you really like the boy, call him yourself no sooner than a day and a half later. I myself would sooner die, but I am a spinster adept at passivity. However, if you are already (improbably) in love with the young squire, you exist in some fourth dimension of reality and none of my advice applies to you. People in love will always take only their own advice anyway, and it is bound to be the least sensible. So you are probably calling him at this very minute, nervously leaving two or three messages which the boy will promptly delete. In conclusion, don't call him and be prepared for him not to call you. C'est la vie.
Dear Professors,
Sometimes I take a book to work to read during lunch. A co-worker of mine often reads over my shoulder or persists in making conversation when i am clearly more interested in my book. More than once he has proceeded to give me his own bombastic and often trite review of the book, revealing its ending and diminishing its appeal. He obviously feels that he deserves my attention over a book. I'm tired of being bullied because I sometimes prefer books to people. How can i stand up to her?
Bookish and bullied in Baltimore
Dear BeeBee,
Firstly, we must confess that we are a little confused by the gender assignment in this question. Secondly, on re-examining our confusion, we have realized that is it YOUR confusion that is the issue. You refer to the offender as "co-worker", then twice as "he", and lastly as "she". The problem, dear Bookish, is that you are being Bullied by your emotions. We at Poppycock have had a conference and concluded that not only is said "co-worker" in fact a woman, but that you are in love with her. And due to the fact that writing "she" seems to be a temporary slip at the ended of a troubled letter, we divine that you tried to mask the real problem (that you are, indeed, a lesbian) by attempting to convince us that the "co-worker" is, in fact, male, which is so clearly not the case. We recommend that you seek therapy immediately and so come to terms with your repressed sexuality and your shocking habit of compulsive lying.
On the other hand, it might just be easier not to bring books to the lunchroom.
Faithfully,
Poppycock.
