Constipated Wife

Dear Miss Havana: My wife spends so many hours on the toilet, I fear she might grow onto the seat. She says her bowels haven’t moved in over a week, even though she sits in the restroom for hours morning and night. When I asked if she takes anything, she replied curtly, ‘Only a book’. Is there anything I can do? Yours Truly, Desperate.

Dear Desperate: It’s called a restroom for a reason. She might not be constipated but she certainly doesn’t give a crap. If she’s trying to balance her checkbook in there, maybe she just can’t budget? Whatever you do, please do not slip her laxatives on the sly. I recently heard of a man who tried that. It made his wife so regular she defecated every morning at exactly seven. Unfortunately, she didn’t get up until eight. You need to determine the real problem. If she’s constipated, get her to a doctor. If not, find another place for a home office. Very Truly Yours, Miss Havana.

Menopause, the change

Dear Miss Havana: My wife has changed since she got ‘the change’. She’s mean, inhospitable, hates sex and probably hates me even more. She has also become scatterbrained. Crap! How many middle-aged women does it take to change a light bulb anyway? Can anything be done? Sincerely, Frustrated.

Dear Frustrated: By ‘got the change’, I assume you mean menopause, but to answer your first question, one and only one. And to answer your second question, yes something can be done—you can help! Let me enlighten you as to why it takes only one menopausal woman to change a light bulb? Because no one else in the frigging house knows how or will. In fact, most men will sit in the dark for days before they’ll get off their fat ass to change the damn thing, assuming they could find the bulbs. The fact that they've been in the same place for the past twenty years doesn’t seem to register! If by some miracle they actually did find them, two days later the chair they dragged to stand on to change the stupid thing would still be in the same spot! And underneath it would be the wrapper for the freaking bulb because no one ever picks up a damn thing or carries out the trash! And don’t even get me started on who changes the toilet paper! Sincerely, Miss Havana.

Hot Flashes

“Dear Miss Havana: While being a woman is a joy, entering menopause isn’t! So far I’ve survived without ripping my clothes off in public, but that could change. Although I’m still hot, it comes in flashes, flushes and power surges. I feel like I’ve lost my mind, and if I hear my husband say, “Quick grab your mother some ice!” one more time there could be bloodshed. If I were a pig, I’d complain about sweating like a fat human. The sweat is pouring off me now; I need help. Sincerely, The Sweating Flasher.”

"Dear Flasher: Karma’s a bitch, but don’t sell your home heating system just yet. As Maxine said, ‘Don’t think of it as hot flashes. Think of it as your inner child playing with matches.’ Attitude is everything until you get through this, so avoid bloodshed by using a name tag that says: ‘Menopause in progress, please go around and do not make eye contact.’ The sign alone will give your husband pause, time to think that a scalding hot shower will cool you down but could be a threat to him. I wish I could offer a quick fix, but alas, this is one storm you’ll have to weather yourself. Black Cohosh might help, but no promises. Mostly, try to get some counseling, not for you but for your husband. By the way, it’s impossible to fool him. He won’t think he's got you excited when you turn down the air conditioner because you won’t want his hot, sweaty body anywhere near you. Regrets, Miss Havana.”