Dear Amritsar,
When my parents tell me to programme the housekeeperbot to take out the trash, I do it without question. I always finish my homework before I post anonymous comments to Gilligan’s Island Farcebook fan pages. I always eat my vegetables, even when they are unidentifiable green lumps that were grown on the moons of Jupiter. In short, I like to think of myself as a “good girl.”
At least, that was before my family got a Home Universe GeneratorTM.
As a reward for my good behaviour, my parents allowed me to watch the Home Universe GeneratorTM for an hour every evening (and, because I am who I am, I never begged them for more time). I thought I would look in on my life in other dimensions, you know, to pick up tips on how to be a better daughter, friend and citizen.
Well! In the first universe I looked at, I was making out with Rance Delectus! I mean, his hands were all over me – it was like he was waxing a car or something! Don’t get me wrong – Rance is the quarterback of the football team at More Science High School and Research Lab – he would be quite the catch! But, of course, I mean in a state sanctioned civil arrangement, and I did not see rings on either of our fingers. When I groped his groin, I had to turn off the Home Universe GeneratorTM and catch my breath – hard to imagine how that was going to make me a better citizen!
After a couple of minutes, I tried another dimension. Well well! In that one, I was making out with Jeremiah Jedediah! He moved his hands around my body with considered, measured strokes, like he was planning out moves in a chess match, which makes sense considering he was the Chess Club Czar. Gross! I would rather lock lips with a vacubot exhaust than kiss him in my universe – I guess the other me had lower standards! When I groped his groin, I had to turn off the Home Universe GeneratorTM in disgust – I can’t believe I thought that that was a winning move!
I decided to try one more dimension. Well well well! There I was, making out with Vida Lou Buttram. I know, right? Only the head of the cheerleading squad for the More Science High Flying Lab Rats football team (they were named after an experiment in jet propulsion went horribly wrong – still, science’s loss was our football teams gain!)! Only the most desired woman in the entire school! Now, I’ve never been attracted to other girls, so when I groped her groin…I had to watch for another few minutes just to be sure I fully understood what I was seeing.
Oh, Amritsar, I’m a slut and I didn’t even know it! How is such a thing possible?
Philomena
Hey, Babe,
Okay, take a deep breath. You don’t want to hyperventilate and pass out before I’ve had the opportunity to share my hard-won wisdom with you. Are you sitting comfortably? Good.
To begin, let me just say that Amritsar is not keen on the term “slut.” As you know, it started as a Scandinavian word, “sluttavoisk,” meaning, “cheese woman.” In Victorian England, this became shortened to mean, “potential victim of Jack the Ripper.” Since Victorians found it hard to pronounce “avoisk,” the word was relengthened and reshortened to “slutt.” Of course, it became the word we know today when it lost its terminal “t” during the Second World War due to rationing.
As for your little problem, well (sorry, but, unlike you, I don’t feel the need to go to the well more than once), I believe you are making too much of what you have seen. The Philomenas you watched clearly made different choices in their lives in their realities than you have in yours.
That doesn’t mean that, in this universe, you are a Scandinavian cheese woman. Some women have allergies to dairy products. Some women had bad experiences with emmental and have sworn off all cheeses as a result. Some women just don’t like the concept of milk products combined with mold. The important thing is that, no matter what other versions of you in other universes may do, you don’t have to partake of the cheeseboard of life until you are ready.
Send your relationship problems to the Alternate Reality News Service’s sex, love and technology columnist at questions@lespagesauxfolles.ca. Amritsar Al-Falloudjianapour is not a trained therapist, but she does know a lot of stuff. AMRITSAR SAYS: don’t challenge me on English etymology. I sleep with a dictionary under my pillow, and, when I wake up with a headache, I spend hours studying the words that have caused me such grief!