Ta-dah! The moment of truth. Gather around, for the one and only Dr. Monica is here to answer your questions!
Sure, I may not have credentials, but I’ve got something better. I survived Camp Prison-Shit, and that was no small feat! And frankly, I deserve an award for that or at least a doctoral degree of some sort, so I’ll take it!
I asked you for questions–the more inconsequential the better–and you didn’t disappoint. In fact, you delivered in spades! So, let’s begin, shall we?
Jodi of Rochester, New York, asks, “Dr. Monica, Should I wear underwear under my yoga pants?”
Dear Jodi of Rochester,
First, I have to ask: Is your town named after Mr. Rochester of “Jane Eyre” (by Charlotte Bront) fame? I always wondered about that. He was such a darkly brooding man, but I loved that book, and he did cut quite a romantic figure, but why was he never happy and why he never laughed, I will never know. Not so much as a grin! You’d think no one ever told a joke in those times, but you never know. Maybe there was a Lord Seinfeld who could’ve cracked up the best of them, but nobody got it. Maybe if someone had said to him just once, “Lighten up, Rochester,” things would’ve been different. I’m just saying.
But I digress.
Getting back to your question about whether to wear underwear under your yoga pants–as opposed to what?
Wearing them over your yoga pants?? Are you serious or do you just want to be kicked out of class? Sheesh!
Jodi from Rochester, as my mother would say, “Don’t go anywhere without your best underwear!” Because you never know when an ambulance will have to come to your yoga class and rush you to the hospital because of some funny position you got yourself into. Sure, Mr. Rochester might find it amusing, but you won’t when they’re tearing off your clothes to prep you for surgery and they discover there’s no underwear to cut off with a pair of scissors. I mean, do you really want that stress? Of course not! You can look like a schlep but what the medics will all remember is the nice underwear, albeit now shredded, that you wore in the ambulance. Now, go put some on!
Robert from an old train stop in England, asks (read with a Liverpool accent. I understand he’s a “big” Beatles fan or will be if I have any say in the matter.)
“Dr. Monica, Have you noticed that wrong numbers are never already in use when you ring them? It’s a deep question so you may have to ask Oliver and Henry for their views on the subject.”
Dear British Robert,
Actually, I’ve noticed quite the opposite. In fact you could say that most of my friends, and a few of my acquaintances, I met by getting calls from folks dialing the wrong number.
Take Charlie who works for a, well, collection agency. He was all bothered and hot under the collar when he called demanding to speak to Murray about some speakers he bought on credit from Circuit City, a retail store that sold well, speakers, stereos, CD players and other things people no longer need, which is why they went out of business.
So I said, “Temper, temper, Charlie, is it really so bad?” I mean didn’t Circuit City close its doors years ago? What on earth do they need their money for? And he got all bent out of sorts with me, but the next thing you know, we were fast friends!
So Robert, the next time you ring a wrong number, dial up Charlie instead. He’s got a couple of speakers to sell you.
SIDE BAR: Folks, answering your questions is a tad more taxing on my brain than I originally thought it would be. Frankly, I erroneously assumed Henry and Oliver would be of some help in responding to your queries, as Robert suggested, however they remain mum on the subject. Henry’s snoring away and Oliver is lurking on the stairs, ready to protect our home from passers by. So I only have time for one more question today. Who’s it going to be?
“Dr. Monica, I have a co-worker who always has concerns. I know ’cause she and other co-workers come to my area to eat lunch 5 days a week. I don’t mind the company some days but most days I do. Therefore, the last thing I wanna talk about is work at work. I was thinking to bring roach spray for my co-workers but that probably goes against the fine print in my contract. What ever can I do for that one specific worker who keeps talking about stuff I don’t wanna hear?”
Don’t use roach spray as it’s not polite. Ant spray, maybe. But even better, fill your desk and the general vicinity around it, with plants, especially cacti. The more the merrier. Make it wall-to-wall plants so that there’s no room for anyone to join you for lunch. Make it so that even you will have a hard time eating at your desk because there’s no room. Also, may I suggest barbed wire to wrap around you? Add a sign to your back that says, “Warning: Electrical fence.” If you can’t find any barbed wire at the Home Depot, you can always buy a buzzer to add to your area so that she has to announce herself through an intercom system, and then you can pretend not to be at your desk. Good luck! If she’s anything like the lady who tries to eat at my desk, you’ll need it. But here’s what I do when I see her coming: I have the doorman show her the way out!
And that’s it for today, folks. Remember, send me your questions, tell me what ails you and maybe I’ll share my wisdom with you next time. Or maybe not.
So for now, the Doctor is out. Roger that.