Were You Raised In A Barn? : Ask Professor Classypants

Another week, another batch of letters.  I really can’t thank you enough for taking the time to share your life with me so that I might casually dismiss it as if it were nothing.  And if you are among the Professor Classypants naysayers who believe that these letters are not, in fact, real inquiries delivered to my desk through the minor miracle of electronic mail, you must be new to the internet.  The whole point of going online is to send obnxious anonymous notes.

Anyhoo: this week I tackle a series of questions from those of you who were clearly raised by wolves.  Next week, I imagine I will hear from each of these advice-seekers again, because they are hopeless and lonely.

A professorial colleague lent me his favorite tools to help with this week’s column.


Dear Professor Classypants,

Where do you stand on full disclosure with medical professionals? Whenever I go to the doctor, I always lie about how many alcoholic beverages I have per week, how often I exercise, etc. I’m usually there for a specific reason, not to get berated about drinking less or exercising more. I already know what my vices are — is it OK to lie a little bit to the doctor?

Medically Yours,


Dear Marianne:

You.  Filthy.  Liar.

I’m sorry, I meant to say, “You’re not alone.”  We all feel the urge to paint a rosier picture to the doctor.  I mean, who wants to be judged by someone who already has so much to judge you about, including but not limited to how you look naked? He or she only recently stopped chiding you for being a fake advice columnist who has been asked nicely by the authorites to stop insisting that you are a doctor.  Why add to the list by letting them know that not only do you drink but that you drink while you exercise, so as not to lose valuable drinking time?  And that you used to wait until after your workout to start drinking but you found that the run-off from your shampoo made your Miller High Life taste funny?

But Marianne: your doctor is there to help and he or she can’t help you if you’re not honest.  Quality medical care is a lot like putting Skittles in a guinea pig:  you only get out of it what you put into it.  On a related note, slicing open guinea pigs is a cruel and unsustainable mode of Skittle delivery.  Perhaps you meant to buy a Pez dispenser? – P.C.

Taste the rainbow.


Professor Classypants:

If I choose to act based on my beliefs, but my beliefs are the product of forces outside of myself, do I truly have free will?



Dear Thrasymachus:

It’s so funny that you should write!  The first person able to reconcile man’s self-determination with the sovreignty of God will be entered to win an iPad from Act Classy! -P.C.

Tune in next week when the Professor tackles whether or not man truly has this.


Dear Professor Classypants:

My boyfriend is an astronaut, and I’m afraid he’s going to bring home a symbiotic alien life form that will attach itself to my essence and try to destroy Earth. He says I’m being unreasonable, but I think he is ignoring my feelings. Who is right? Also, do you know of any good organic, pet-safe products for cleaning green blood out of drapes?

Signed, Lost in Space

Dear Lost:

It takes a lot of courage to admit to yourself–and to the internet–that your boyfriend is an astronaut.  No matter what the close-minded zealots try to tell you, being an astronaut is not a choice or a lifestyle.  A person is born an astronaut.  It’s no reflection on your desirability or future prospects for romance.  People who’ve loved an astronaut can still go on to find love, get married, and have children.  What matters most is that you respect his bravery in coming clean with you and that you love yourself for having forgiveness in your heart.

Thank you, also, for not taking the ignorant way out and calling him a “butt pirate.”  Astronaut is, at least, classier. – P.C.

PS: Try Gorilla Glue on the drapery stains.  You know what they say, “Green blood on the drapes, bring on the apes!”

Born this way.


Hey Prof!

I’ve recently been freed from the clutches of Academia and I have a feeling most of what I learned is ultimately useless. What stuff did you learn on your way to Professorship that you could, in all honesty, have gotten by without?

-Needs to Clear Space in Brain

Dear Brain:

Someone clearly did not major in Manners.  “Hey Prof?”  Do I come to your job and shout, “Yo, Douche!” when I know that you prefer, “Douchebag?”  No.  No I do not.  But I forgive you.  Or, in your parlance, “I forg you.”

Completing your postsecondary education is a mixed blessing.  You are swollen with pride (that is pride, right?  ew.) and filled with purpose.  You set out to make a difference in the world and you’ve done it…except for the part where you failed to plan ahead and do any research on projected earnings and workforce needs in your chosen field.  Perhaps when someone suggested you “Choose your vocation carefully” you spent months poring over timeshare brochures.  I am guessing this based on the amount of time you have to write to online advice columnists.

So whereas you ask what you could have done without, I ask you what you should have tried harder to master.  Primarily the concepts of planning ahead, living in the real world, and not being such a navel-gazing dilettante.

Happy graduation! -P.C.

You can throw your hat up in the air, so long as we’re clear that I just don’t care.


Dear Professor Classypants:

How come you never call me? Why do I have to submit questions here to get you to respond?

Love, Mama Classypants

Dear Mama:


Happy writing! Thanks for stopping by to live, love, and learn. Be sure to join us next week.And remember: Act Classy and you will be classy. Ish.

Have a question for Professor Classypants? Feel free to use our magical form that lets you enter information into rectangles. When you hit SUBMIT, the form sends electronic mail to Professor Classypants with your message. Great… now we’ve over-explained things.

Molly Martin

Professor Darla Von Classypants is actually Molly G. Martin. Because Ann Landers and Dear Abby and Dear Prudence haven't used real names in 67 years so why should she? And if you're thinking this reminds you of an old Dave Barry schtick: when you grow up and get your own blog, THEN you can have opinions.

Leave a Reply