FANTZ: Junk in his trunks

Dear Christy,

I was rummaging through my boyfriend’s medicine cabinet last night and I found a heavy-duty fungicide prescription — and it didn’t appear to be for his feet. What do I do? P.S.: He lives alone.

— Freaked by fungi

Sore Sally:

Holy hellfire, herpes!

Your man is burning in his loins like no one’s business.

Besides your business. Because that nerve of yours strapped on a set of cajones and poked around his personal shit. Now you’re in quite the oozy mess.

Since you call him “boyfriend,” pray tell me you’ve had the “diseases” and “get tested” conversation before he littered your black hole with his glory pole. If he does has some junk in his trunks, then chances are you do now, too.

If you haven’t made the sex, then have said talk before you get in the heat of passion. You don’t want Pepe the Herpe to start building houses in your own Hanes. It’s your health at stake here. There is no known cure for the herpes virus, so if you get it, Pepe’s new mansion is yours to manage.

Ask your boyfriend outright if he has any diseases. If he denies, then ask him about the cream. He may feel violated that you snooped, but your vagina is like fine China. Take care of that girl, she makes you go “ah!”

Now go mow Pepe’s lawn. He’s getting lost in the weeds.

Dear Christy,

I’m 5 foot 10 and about 180 pounds and I’m wild about a guy who’s about 5 foot 6 and a buck-thirty, soaking wet. Do I go for it?

–Enamored Amazon

WNBA:

How’s the weather up there? Do your shoes double as canoes? Is that a wig? What’s your stage name? Do you play basketball? Why do you have heels on? You have man hands.

Ahem.

I’m allowed to poke fun only because I’m three inches taller than you are. Sprouting to 5 foot 11 in eighth grade made for aforementioned jaded juvenile comments that at least made my skin tough. My 5-foot-10 husband quite likes that I’m 6-foot-1. I definitely weigh more than him, but he likes to watch his girlish figure. (So he says.)

Just because we’re tall doesn’t mean we have to date tall men. If you’re wild about the dude, then get wild in his pants.

Creating superficial restrictions — like height — will only rule out a sea of potential partners. Who cares if he’s short? Sure, we all have shallow desires for our future fellas, but in the end what we need to be looking for is the kindhearted soul who showers us with his love sauce. (Look everybody, it’s Dr. Phil! And no, I’m not talking about a golden shower.)

If some girls’ affinity for pleasing humanity with superficiality surpasses luck at love in a little lass, then let them wait in line. While they argue over oversized airs, we’ll be over here enjoying our soul mates.