Mediocre Fred's Mediocre Blog (Ret.)

Absence Makes the Heart Grow... Fonder, I Hope

Today's Musical Selection: "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" by Queen

Hello, everyone! I'm marginally better today, thanks for asking. And Uncle Millie and Aunt Beatrice are rip-roaring and ready to go. Today they come to us from Seattle, Washington, where I understand a celebration is brewing. I'd like to congratulate Uncle Millie on successfully completing his term in Betty Ford. Aunt Beatrice reports that he was walking more steadily and speaking more clearly than she's ever seen from him. This should be something. But enough from me. On with the show!

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I Can't Get No Satisfaction... Not At Today's Prices, At Least, by Uncle Millie and Aunt Beatrice

AB: Hello from Seattle, everybody! Uncle Millie and I are here visiting my sister Tricia and having a late Thanksgiving celebration. Due to Uncle Millie's situation, we weren't able to observe Thanksgiving on the proper day. And since Tricia's husband is serving our country in Iraq right now and since she wasn't able to fly across the country to join the rest of the family in Buffalo, we decided to have our own celebration here a week late. We've split up the cooking duties. Tricia is making her famous cornbread dressing and cranberry, I'm handling the mashed potatoes and the green-bean casserole, and Uncle Millie has promised to handle the turkey. He's out at the store getting it now, actually. Why don't you say hi to everyone, Tricia?

T: Hi, everyone! Beatrice was telling me a little bit about this advice column, which I'd never heard about before. Do you have a lot of readers?

AB: Well, we're not the most popular advice column, but we do have a devoted following. Most of them are Millie's ex-lovers.

T: Yes, your husband is... quite a character, isn't he?

AB: He certainly is. He's mostly harmless, though. (You readers should know that this is the first time Tricia's met Millie.)

T: He's certainly a kidder. When I told him we were having rack of lamb for dinner tonight, he said he was hoping for a different kind of rack. Does he not like lamb?

AB: Oh, that husband of mine. He's one of a kind. Here's a handy tip, Tricia: Ignore 95% of what he says. Strangely enough, it doesn't seem to matter which 5% you pay attention to.

T: He seems like a nice person, though, and rather a gentleman. He is a little... touchy-feely, though.

AB: Yes, he is. I've tried to get him to dial that back, but I think the only way to get him to stop would be to cut off his-

UM: Greetings, ladies! I have returned with the turkey!

AB: You're late. I had to start the column without you.

UM: Sorry about that, my dear. I had to go to several stores to find the right turkey for our meal. And I must say, Tricia, that dress looks simply smashing on you. Is it new?

T: Why, yes it is. Thanks for noticing! I got it on sale!

UM: Well, I'm sold!

T: Hee hee, that's quite -- oh my, you sure do like to... hug a lot, don't you?

UM: I always treat my beloved wife's kin as though they were my own.

T: That's nice. You must be very... close to them.

AB: Down, boy. Leave my sister alone.

UM: But wasn't it you who asked me to be friendly to her?

AB: That's not really what I had in mind.

UM: Very well. At any rate, I have the turkey here with me.

T: Great! Did you pick out a good one!

UM: I pick nothing but the best, Tricia dear. I married Beatrice, didn't I?

T: That's sweet. So, are you planning to fry the turkey? I've heard a lot about that, and I've been wanting to try it.

UM: I'm afraid that's not my plan.

T: That's okay. I like a traditional roasted turkey just fine. How often do you baste it?

UM: I don't.

T: Do you marinate the turkey first?

UM: Well, I...

AB: Why is that bag clinking? Turkeys don't clink.

UM: It's just...

AB: Let me see that bag... you bought booze!

UM: Wild Turkey, my dear. None of my childhood Thanksgivings were complete without it!

AB: I don't know why I trust you to do anything. Did you get an actual bird?

UM: Of course not. Cooking is woman's work.

AB: You're this close to having a soup ladle jammed up your nostril, buster.

T: Beatrice! I wouldn't expect such language from you.

AB: You don't have to live with him.

UM: Oh, and I've invited another friend to our gathering.

AB: Who's that?

UM: My dear old bosom buddy from Scotland, Johnnie Walker!

AB: Didn't your term at Betty Ford teach you anything?

UM: Yes, it taught me not to get caught.

T: Oh dear, I'm not sure we can accomodate another person at the table.

AB: Tricia, Johnnie Walker isn't a-

T: If he's a friend of yours, Millie, I'll certainly try to squeeze him in. But I don't think we have enough chairs.

UM: Not a problem at all, my dear. You can always sit on my lap.

T: I... need to check on my cranberry sauce.

AB: Sit down, you. We have a column to do. Unfortunately.

UM: Well, let me pour a little glass of something inspirational...

AB: You're a hopeless case, you know that?

UM: It's as our friend Tripp says... I'm just not the same without it.

AB: Well, while you're getting inspired, I'm going to read the first letter. By the time your inspiration is finished, I'm sure you won't be able to.

Dear Uncle Millie and Aunt Beatrice,

My girlfriend "Janine" and I have been going out for two years. We love each other very much. When we started dating, we used to go out and do fun things all the time: we'd dance, or go out to museums, or eat at exotic restaurants, or go to see a show. I'm sort of a homebody at heart, but Janine helped pull me out of my shell. And it was great! Lately, though, it seems like almost every night we wind up in front of the TV watching reruns and eating takeout Chinese. This is remarkably similar to my life before I met Janine. Then, I liked it fine. Now, not so much. What happened? How do we get out of our rut?

Nate in Boston

AB: Hi, Nate. This is a classic syndrome of long-running relationships: everything's fun and exciting at first, but as you become more comfortable with each other, a relationship can easily slide into the doldrums. Once you don't feel the need to impress each other all the time, it's easy to stop trying. Next thing you know, it's you and her and General Tso and Mister Ed every night. This is especially likely to happen when you live together, and from your letter, it sounds like you two do.

Here's my suggestion: Rather than treating each other like roommates, why not plan some actual dates? Pick a time and a place. Dress up to impress her. Actually come to pick her up, even if it means ringing the bell at your own house. Bring her flowers or candy. Pretend that you're been together for, say, two weeks instead of two years. You might not have those giddy early-dating butterflies like you used to, but I'll bet you'll see her in a fresh new light.

UM: As usual, my dear Beatrice, your advice is right on target. Or it would be if this were a romance novel. However, in the real world, this sort of make-believe doesn't work as well as my beloved seems to think. Draping a blanket of roses around an old plowhorse's neck doesn't make it Secretariat. And taking the old ball and chain on a play date isn't going to make her the cat's pajamas again.

AB: As usual, Millie, you've simply swept me off my feet. Some readers wondered what I missed the most while Millie was away. Without question, it had to be the romance.

UM: It's all biological, lad. You see, women are programmed to find a good man and cling to him like a barnacle on the hull of a ship and not let go. Once they attract a good provider, their hormones take over and the nesting instinct kicks in. In human females, this takes the form of the urge to redecorate.

AB: Incredibly, Uncle Millie never studied a day of biology in his life. Not even when he was taking it in school.

UM: So, lad, when you started dating, your lady dressed pretty and took you to all kinds of exciting places. This is the equivalent of a lady bird showing off her fancy plumage.

AB: Actually, in most bird species, the male is brightly colored, not the female. Which is not to imply that anything else you've said is remotely credible.

UM: Now that she's got you hooked, lad, she's determined to keep you in the house, lest you get out in society at large and find another fine lady. You may think the fall-off in dates out of the house was a coincidence, but it was really strategy on her part.

AB: Oh, this is too good. Go on.

UM: Now, as a man, lad, you are wired differently. It's your biological duty to spread your seed far and wide. So naturally, all this being cooped up in the house is making you fidgety. Your hormones are commanding you to go out and multiply! Naturally you didn't mind watching TV in your underwear before; it's a natural male behavior. But now, your genes are trying to alert you to the trap your lady has sprung. They're signaling you to run before it's too late. Nature at work!

AB: Once again, Uncle Millie proves why a little Discovery Channel viewing can be a dangerous thing.

UM: Heed your hormones, lad! They're trying to tell you something. Specifically, they're telling you to go seek a change of scenery. What you need, lad, is a new woman.

AB: Somehow, I had a feeling we were headed here all along.

UM: By heeding nature's call, so to speak, you're fulfilling the proper cycle of these. You lady has used her feminine wiles to snare you, and now you need to escape the trap. In fact, to make sure that you don't get trapped this way again, one woman might not be enough. I'd suggest dating several at once. That way, none of them can lay claim to you.

AB: There should be a V-chip to block out those nature documentaries. They've rotted your brain. Nate is in a two-year relationship with a woman he loves, and you're advising him to dump her and run away as fast as he can.

UM: Not necessarily. He could ask her how she feels about group lovemaking.

AB: I thought you'd long since lost the power to disgust me, but no, it's still there.

UM: Thank you.

AB: And the answer is still no.

UM: Don't knock it until you've tried it, my dear.

Dear Uncle Millie and Aunt Beatrice,

I'm 44, and my wife and I have been married for 8 years. Things have always run pretty smooth, at least until last month. That's when my wife's old high-school flame "Phil" announced he was coming through town and wanted to have dinner with her. She asked me for permission, and I said it was fine; I'm not a jealous man and I've never had reason to suspect her of straying.

But ever since they made the arrangement, it's been "Phil this" and "Phil that" and dragging out the old scrapbooks to look at pictures of her and Phil. He calls almost every night and chats with my wife for hours. And the giggling! It's enough to make a sane man mad, and to drive a sober man to drink. I'm starting to have second thoughts about the wisdom of this whole thing. I'm tempted to tell her to call it off. What should I do?

Gene in Lubbock

UM: Ah, lad, the dangers of the old flame! They pop up out of the woodwork, come in gallant and breezy with roses and pecks on the cheek. Out comes the wine and they both sing a few choruses of "The Way We Were" and the next thing you know the sparks are flying and it's just like old times, if you catch my drift, and I'm sure you do. And yet if you try to put your foot down and call the date off, say, or have him killed, you're somehow the bad guy. It's a travesty, lad.

AB: So you told the last writer to toss his girlfriend overboard, and you're telling this one to lock his wife in the basement? Say what you will about Uncle Millie, friends, but he's not one to be hampered by consistency.

UM: Now, since the above options are out, you have to find a subtler approach. Here's my suggestion: The next time Phil calls and your wife's not at home, talk to him a little. Tell him you've heard a lot about him. Ask him if he's heard about you. Ask him if he heard about your hitch in the Army. Ask if he heard about your tour of duty in 'Nam. Ask him if he heard about the post-traumatic stress syndrome that's left you vulnerable to snapping without notice. Casually mention that you sleep with a pistol by your bedside named Betsy. Odds are, he'll get the message and break the date himself.

AB: Hi, Gene. I hope you took the advice I gave in the introduction and ignored most of that. I can understand why your wife's constant chatter about Phil is frustrating, but I really don't think there's anything to be worried about. I mean, think about it: your wife is talking to you openly about all of this. It would be more troubling if she didn't say anything at all. If she still had feelings for him, she'd probably be trying to hide them.

My advice is to grin and bear it, for the most part. The phone calls seem like a little much; maybe Phil still has some old flames burning. You might ask your wife to ask him to limit the calls. Other than that, though, all you need to do is wait. By now, the dinner must be coming up. Once it's happened, you probably won't hear any more about Phil. If by chance your wife does still have a couple flames flickering, the spare tire and receding hairline of middle age should cure that.

UM: In most cases, at least. Some of us maintain our appeal into somewhat advanced ages.

AB: Of course, dear. You just keep telling yourself that.

Dear Uncle Millie and Aunt Beatrice,

I'm 39, married for 8 years, and I have a rather embarrassing problem. About ten months ago, I went through a very stressful time in my life. I was laid off from my job, my father died, and my wife had a serious health scare. It was a difficult time for our household, but we made it through.

Here's the problem: During our difficulties, my wife and I did not have intimate relations. Understandably, neither of us was really in the mood. Ever since the trouble has passed, though, I've been plagued by, well, performance problems. My wife has taken it in good spirits -- she laughs and asks me if I've forgotten how -- but in the last six months we've only reached completion twice. I'm starting to wonder if I really have forgotten how. Do you have any suggestions for my dilemma? I'm too young for Viagra, aren't I?

Lloyd in Richmond

UM: I would love to be able to advise you, lad, but thank the Lord, I've never had to deal with this issue.

AB:

UM: In fact, you've seen those commercials for the male enhancement drugs that suggest that 4 hours of stimulation is a matter requiring medical attention? I'd always assumed that was, shall we say, par for the course.

AB:

UM: What are you chortling about, woman?

AB: Oh, nothing. I just can't help wondering about the truth of that statement.

UM: What do you mean?

AB: Well, if you've never had performance issues, then who is that man I've been sharing my bed with? Can I trade him for you?

UM: Hrmpf.

AB: Hi, Lloyd. Sorry to hear about your difficulty. And at your age, you're probably right that the problem isn't physical. Unlike Uncle Millie.

UM: I heard that!

AB: You should get checked out by a specialist, though, just in case. Assuming that you're fine physically, your problem is probably psychological. Probably the stress of the hard times made it difficult for you, and once you started having trouble, you became so focused on it that you just couldn't perform. Therefore, your best bet would probably be to sit down with a good therapist and work through the problem together. I'll bet that, with the pressure of running the household on top of everything else, you never had a real chance to feel anything, did you? You need that chance. Good luck.

UM: I want to take a moment here to categorically deny Aunt Beatrice's slanderous charges.

AB: Oh, please. I've spoken to your ex-girlfriends. They've nicknamed you "Minute Man."

UM: Hrmpf. I'm not talking to you.

T: Would anyone like to try my cranberry sauce? I think it's missing something.

UM: Tricia! So glad to see you again, dear.

T: Uh... sure, Millie. Cranberry sauce?

UM: I'd be delighted.... I think it needs a touch of orange juice.

T: Good idea! I'll try that.

UM: Say, Tricia, a question for you, if I might.

T: What is it?

UM: Well, you've met me now, right?

T: I suppose.

UM: Well, then surely you can easily believe that a handsome, strapping middle-aged man such as myself has no trouble achieving tumescence?

T: Um... I don't know that word.

UM: Do you believe I have no problem getting my flag to full mast?

T: I, uh...

UM: If you'd like, I can allow you to inspect the visual evidence.

T: I really need to put my sauce back on.

AB: Well, thank you, Millie. You bought booze for Thanksgiving dinner, you've harassed and frightened my sister, and you've once again embarrassed me and yourself. Congratulations.

UM: Tripp, my friend, Uncle Millie is back!

AB: With a vengeance. We'll see you in two weeks. When we'll have a special guest columnist, my divorce lawyer.

UM: Happy hunting!

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Thank you, Uncle Millie and Aunt Beatrice. I think.

I'm going to step away myself now. See you tomorrow!

Posted by Fred at December 1, 2004 09:09 PM