Miss Wendy's Texas Love
Plus Some Occasional Comments on the
State of the Popular Culture
L-R: Michael Mazocco,
Wendy R. Williams, Armistead Johnson
Photo: Stephen Mosher
here for Miss Wendy's Latest Column
dear Miss Wendy,
Now that former President
Clinton is back in the news and Monica has once
again confided her hurt and confusion to her
close friends in the paying British press, where
is Paula Jones? It feel like a five year
high school reunion without the return of the
I am so glad you asked, because something happened the other night that made
me think about darling Paula Jones. I was walking home alone on a dark
and deserted Manhattan street (you are not supposed to do this), when a man
pulled up next to me in his car and turned on the car's interior lights so
I could see "it". I took a quick glance at "it" (about
15 seconds max) and walked away. My flasher then pulled his car forward,
stopped and turned on his lights again so I could get a better look at "it".
Now what do you
think I did - scream in fright (it was not that
impressive) or run home to call the police and
report him, giving his license number and description?
Well....I did none of those things. I continued walking, went to the
store and then on home to watch TV.
So why did I do
nothing? Because there was nothing in it
for me to justify the aggravation - no money, no
fame. And I was tired and in no mood to spend
the rest of my evening at a police station, filling
out a report about this nonsense. Or attend
a line-up where the police sergeant would say things
like, "Okay, gentlemen, please unzip your
pants?" Or worse yet, go to court and
describe what I saw and be asked questions like, "Were
there any identifying physical characteristics?"
Now I don't know
about dear Paula, but men have been flashing me
my entire life and the most I have ever done about
it is tell them to put that silly little thing
back where it belongs. Perhaps things were
more innocent back in Arkansas, but I doubt it.
And as for being
traumatized by being flashed and propositioned,
think about this for a Democratic fund raiser. Would
you pay $100 for a 30 second visit with former
President Clinton? It would work like this:
You walk into a room where President Clinton sits
on a bed - he flashes you and propositions you
and you hand him your tax deductible check and
walk out. Now before you get all huffy, think
about it for a minute. You would have fodder
for cocktail party conversations for the rest of
your life, not to mention your grandchildren's
lives. And when your grandchildren become teenagers
and go into that rebellious stage where they think
all their ancestors are intolerable prudes, you
can say to them, "But on the contrary, dear,
I was once politically active."
Dear Miss Wendy,
I am about
to be married and want to know if I should
wear a strapless gown for my wedding. I have
a tattoo on my right shoulder.
The Rose Tattoo
Please feel free to wear a strapless gown if your tattoo is not too profane.
If you cover it with makeup, the make up will run and ruin your wedding gown
when the groom douses you in champagne at the reception. I do draw
the line with having the groom wear a sleeveless tuxedo so he too can show
off his tattoos. But, if he absolutely insists on a sleeveless tux,
he must shave his pits for your wedding.
P. S. If you
are marrying a man who shaves his armpits, you
may have a different problem and need to
write back for further advice.
If you are just dying for
more of Miss Wendy's priceless advice, please
check the previous months letters in the Archive
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