family

In this column I have talked from time to time about "guy cars" and "girl cars." I have pointed out that there are a few fundamental differences in how most men and women view their automobiles. 

The typical guy wants a car that is an expression of dominance over his personal universe. He wants it to project an image of his status and virility to the world. He wants it to be a four-wheeled extension of his ideal self, looking and sounding as powerful and in-charge as he (comically) imagines himself to be.

Most women are happy with a car if the engine starts when you turn the key.

I consider myself a really lucky guy. In my career I've had the opportunity to write all kinds of things, most of them silly, and writing them has usually been fun. But every now and then I have had to put the silliness aside and say goodbye to a friend.

Just a little over seventeen years ago our family threw all our stuff in boxes, threw the boxes in a truck, and headed up the road from Ann Arbor to move into a house on the shores of Whitmore Lake. The house came with nice carpeting, a great view of the water, and a neighbor named Harold Lemon.

Wrong.

We haven't heard from our old friend Dr. Mike in quite a while. For new readers, Dr. Mike is an advice columnist whose main qualification for dispensing life-changing gems of wisdom is his Ph.D. in Melted Crayon Sculpture from the University of Tim Online ($29.95, two for $41.50).

Here is what we found in this week's mail bag:

Dear Dr. Mike,

My wife's cooking is a lot more enthusiastic than it is edible. In fact, after word of her "Liver-Tofurky Casserole Surprise" reached the Pentagon, she was hired as a consultant for the Army's Chemical Warfare Division.

Now she has invited my entire side of the family over to our house for a home-cooked dinner. My question is, could I be held responsible? I mean, isn't luring someone, especially a relative, into a known hazardous situation prosecutable in this state?

Signed,

Maybe I Should Cop A Plea