Advice for the Lost Confused? Forlorn? Not sure where you left the car keys? Send your questions to Dr. Wombat at wombat@folded.com. You'll be glad you did.

Q: How do I get my girlfriend to wear sexy lingerie?

A: Now, I could launch into some "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" claptrap about how men dissociate their sexual passion from their nurturing instincts, and since women don't do that, they perceive sexual gifts as being devoid of romantic sentiment, and so what you need to do is find a way to connect the gift back to the land of nurturing romance – by packing it in rose petals, or shopping for it with her, or something else like that. I could do that. Any advice columnist worth his or her phony psychology degree can do that. But I won't. ‘Cause it ain't true. Guys, you and I know that when we give lingerie to a woman, it is because we think she is a sexy, beautiful goddess and deserves to look the part. However, this is not the way the women perceive it. They think that you are just a slimy, misogynistic oaf who only thinks of them as a dress-up inflatable doll for you to use and throw away, and why can't you see her for the gentle, complex person she is, you woman-hating bastard? You think a couple of rose petals are going to make up for something like that, Romeo? So how can you get her to wear sexy lingerie? It's easy. You can't. You can tell her all you like that just because you want to throw her on the bed and have your way with her that doesn't mean you don't appreciate her dazzling wit, comfortable charm and deep philosophical insights on Kirkegaard, but it'll do no damn good. You say "lingerie," but she hears you say "I am still in puberty, I read Penthouse while you're asleep and I'd drop you for Pamela Lee Anderson in a heartbeat." She's not going to understand. I do not mean to claim that women are stupid. Women have discovered radium, been Prime Minister of England, and solve the New York Times Sunday Crossword on a regular basis. And who was getting A's in Mrs. Vernon's seventh grade math class while you were worrying about how to hide your boner? Girls. However, there is a world of things that women will never understand. No woman knows how to operate the hinge on a toilet seat, and no woman knows that lingerie is meant to complement seductiveness the way that pearls are meant to complement elegance. Try hard as you want, you will never convince her of that truth. It is never going to happen, so give up your fantasy now.

 

Q: Is Clinton a sex addict?

A: Who the hell cares? Stop bothering me. Go watch The McLaughlin Group.

 

Q: I've had a live-in boyfriend for three and a half years. A year ago, we were broken up for two months and I had sex with another guy. Do I tell him?

A: You should definitely tell him. But only if you want to hear about his having sex with your sister and how she's prettier and skinnier than you are while he angrily throws your clothes, your CD collection and your cat out the window. On the other hand, if you still want to be with this guy, then shut up, get your shots and learn that adults know how to keep a secret.

 

Q: Which came first, the Martini or the Martini glass?

A: Ahh, the Martini. Drinking one enables you to get just as buzzed as if you were chugging from the liquor bottle (because basically you are), yet maintain an air of suavity, maturity and hipness. If you do it right. As a public service to all Grumble reader/drinkers, I have provided below simple guidelines for drinking a Martini. Pay attention. Don't try to be James Bond. Sean Connery is the only one in the world who can say the words "shaken, not stirred" without looking like an idiot. Watch Roger Moore try it. You'll laugh yourself silly. Just imagine what your date must think of you when you try it. Just order a Martini. If your bartender says "want that shaken?" only then may you say "that's fine." Notice that the proper answer is not "yes, please." That is because Martinis are supposed to be stirred. Shaking introduces tiny air bubbles, which can make the deliciously clear beverage cloudy for a while. But it won't taste any different; shaking does not "bruise" the gin. How can you bruise gin, anyway? It's liquor, not fruit. You've noticed I mentioned gin, but not vodka. That is because vodka Martinis are silly (yes, James Bond drank them. See #1 above). Good vodka has no flavor; its main purpose is to give screwdrivers their drive. Bad vodka has a flavor, of sorts, but why would you want to drink bad vodka? Similarly, why would you want to drink a Martini that tasted just like vermouth? If you like the taste of vermouth so much, just drink it straight. And when ordering a Martini, do yourself a favor and ask for a call brand. Well gin tastes like turpentine. Martinis come with olives (there should be three of them, but if your friendly neighborhood bartender gives you only one, don't argue; you want him or her to be your friend). If you don't want the olives, don't eat them. But don't say, "hold the olives." It makes you look like a child. Similarly, if you want a Martini with pearl onions instead of olives, ask for a Gibson. That's what it's called. Apart from Gibsons, there are exactly two other acceptable alternatives. The Cosmopolitan is a delicious, if overly trendy, drink made with vodka (acceptable in this case, but only because of all the fruit flavors), cranberry juice, lime juice and sugar. Using lemon flavored vodka works well. Do not call it a Cosmopolitan Martini, and never call it "that Martini drink with cranberry and stuff in it." The other alternative is the Manhattan. A Manhattan is made with whiskey (again, ask for a call brand) and sweet vermouth. It is Dr. Wombat's personal favorite. Especially because Dr. Wombat's fiancée enjoys its garnish, a thoroughly whiskey-soaked cherry*. Do not call it a Whiskey Martini. You'll look silly, which runs contrary to the whole purpose of having these drinks. There is no such thing as a Chocolate Martini. I don't care if your girlfriends all drink it. It doesn't exist. As for your question about which came first, the Martini or its glass, the answer is this: nobody knows.

* Ha ha ha. You're very witty. Go back to seventh grade.