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Dear Aunty Pam,

 

Every four years, my husband Darryl and I have a big fight because of the Olympics. I don’t even watch much of it because all he wants to do is watch women’s beach volleyball. 

He won’t leave the house or mow the yard; just sits in his recliner, stares at the TV and drinks beer. I know it’s because he’s ogling those women’s bodies and staring at their butts. 

He denies it, but I know he’s lying. 

Why do those women wear such skimpy uniforms? It makes them look like they work at Hooters.

How can I get Darryl to stop acting like a pervert?

Thank you.

 

Wanda

 

Dear Wanda,

 

You can’t. You’ve lost Darryl for the next week or so to his reverie. You can’t get a guy to mow when, in his head, he’s walking hand-in-hand with a bevy of Olympians through the Champ-de-Mars Park in front of the Eiffel Tower! Let him live the dream—it’s pretty harmless. I am quite sure that none of those young, fit athletes are going to take an Uber to Roebuck, SC, and lure Darryl away from his BarcaLounger.

Aunty Pam is, however, as perplexed as you are about the uniforms. Personally, I wouldn’t be comfortable wearing a bikini bottom that requires a back-hoe to remove, but that’s just me.

 

Cheers, dears!!

Aunty Pam