Every February before Valentine’s Day, Jack Knox surrenders this space to Dr. Romance, who dispenses relationship advice to the men of Vancouver Island. This year, however, the role is being assumed by Mrs. Dr. Romance.
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: How did you come to take over the advice column this year?
Curious in Courtenay
Dear Curious: Well, there was this day when Dr. Romance kept interrupting Mrs. Dr. Romance to tell her how mansplaining really works. When Dr. Romance urged her to stop banging her head against the wall so that she could hear him better, she accidentally chopped off his typing fingers with a meat cleaver.
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: Are you sure you’re up for this?
Uncertain in Oak Bay
Dear Uncertain: Yes, like her husband, Lefty, Mrs. Dr. Romance is ready to cure heartache and write prescriptions for love.
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: I tried to impress my wife with an impromptu sexy dance, but when I peeled off my shirt like Adam Levine at the Super Bowl halftime show, she was all “what are you doing” and “put that back on” and “you’re going to get us thrown out of Capital Iron.”
Shirtless from Shawnigan
Dear Shirtless: Women. Go figure.
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: Bolen Books is holding a Singles Night tonight. I say to my girlfriend: “What kind of woman would be interested in a guy just because he reads boo…”, except when I look up, she’s gone and her car is burning rubber down the road in the direction of Hillside Mall.
Do you think she’s going to Thrifty to buy steaks for supper?
Vexed in Victoria
Dear Vexed: I’m sure she’ll be right back. Go wait outside by the barbecue. In the snow.
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: I’m into hour nine of Super Bowl coverage last Sunday when she comes down from demossing the roof and rips the TV off the wall, throws it into the driveway and backs over it with her car. “What are you doing?” I ask. “Crushing the patriarchy,” she replies.
“No,” I explain, “they’re called the Patriots. I don’t like Tom Brady either, but don’t you think you’re overreacting?” (Women love it when you ask them that.)
Anyway, now we need a new TV, so I go out and buy one the size of a billiard table. “It’s too big for the room,” she says.
“There’d be more space if you left,” I reply, helpfully. It looks like she took me literally because I haven’t seen her for five days. I’m getting hungry. Should I be worried?
Supperless in Saanich
Dear Supperless: No, you’re good. Go wait with Vexed.
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: According to the 2016 census, Victoria — that’s just the city proper, not the whole area — has 4,500 more unattached women than unattached men. Should they change the name to Chicktoria?
Hilarious in the Highlands
Dear Hilarious: Mrs. Dr. Romance prefers Paradise City.
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: When I asked Dr. Romance if it was true that the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, he replied: “Yes, but Mrs. Dr. Romance prefers to go straight in with a steak knife.” Is this true?
Nonplussed in Nanaimo
Dear Nonplussed: Mrs. Dr. Romance is a vegetarian. Got to use those steak knives for something.
— So, that’s your real answer to the what-do-men-want question?
— No. The correct answer is “Who cares?”
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: This Valentine’s Day, the El Paso Zoo will name a cockroach after your ex and then feed it to a meerkat, which you can watch live on the zoo’s Facebook stream. Does this not seem wrong?
Miffed in Metchosin
Dear Miffed: Absolutely. Why is it limited to an ex? Also, that reminds me of Willie Nelson’s All My Exes Live In Texas.
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: No, you’re thinking of another Texas country singer, George Strait. Willie Nelson is the hard-drinkin’ cheater whose first wife sewed him into his bedsheets when he was asleep, then beat him with a broom handle.
Do you not see something wrong here?
Duncan Disorderly
Dear Duncan: Yes. How did he get a second wife (not to mention a third and fourth)?
Dear Mrs. Dr. Romance: When I asked my lucky lady what she wanted for Valentine’s, she said a special dinner would be nice, maybe tomato basil bruschetta, followed by halibut confit with leeks, then crème brule.
I replied: “No, that will take you way too long to cook” (I’m thoughtful that way), but now I’m stuck for an alternative.
Last year’s Thighmaster wasn’t a big hit. I’m thinking of something to help her in the kitchen. Any ideas?
Loverboy in Langford
Dear Loverboy: A meat cleaver is always handy.
