Group therapy
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This is the first instalment of a weekly relationship-based advice column that will allow readers to contribute their wisdom on a dilemma. Each week, we'll offer up a problem for you to weigh in on, and then publish the most lively responses, with Final Word on the matter delivered by our columnist, Claudia Dey.
The question
A friend of mine has decided she's finally going to marry her long-time sweetheart who, as it turns out, isn't nearly as sweet as she thinks. I'd heard rumours about his love of strippers and, while I was out at a college friend's stag the other weekend (honest), I spied him in perverts' row on a strip-club solo mission. He spent all night getting lap dances and everyone in the place seemed to know him by name. He never spotted me, but I know I'm going to have to say something before my friend takes that walk down the aisle. This guy's a dirtbag! Should I tell her the slimy details or let her find out for herself?
- Strip Club Clouseau
Speak up - casually
What makes you think she doesn't already know? Not all women consider strip clubs off limits, and spotting your friend's fianc enjoying some bump and grind at the local ballet does not exactly qualify him as a dirtbag.
But let's say she really is clueless, and would be hurt by his behaviour. Casually mention to her that you saw him at the club and leave it at that. If you treat it like a major offence, you're setting her up to see it that way as well.
And the next time you see this guy at a strip bar, don't let him off the hook. Say hello. If he's friendly and comfortable, he probably has nothing to hide. If he bolts for the door, there's a serious trust issue and she's better off without him.
- Shannon McKinnon, Toronto
Rat him out
There's just something sleazy about you I like: You listen to rumours, spy on people and are practically incontinent about leaking slimy details that clearly do not concern you.
I think you should tell your friend every detail; then give her an itemized list of what the creep drank and spent, in addition to a series of covert photographs of him staring wistfully at the pole. I once lived with a man who wore powerful binoculars under his shirt and liked to refer to strip clubs as research.
I think that you, however reprehensibly, should narc on the guy before she spends the best years of her life with a man who angrily describes Hooters as a bar for owls.
- Lynn Crosbie, Toronto
Just hand over some fivers
Is it possible you're jealous because your friend is marrying some other clown, or because every time he walks into that club, the strippers all yell Norm! ? If that's the case, sorry, but this dirtbag won the popularity contest.
Assuming your intentions are pure, and you dump this gossip in your friend's lap, she will either:
fly into a rage, dump him briefly, and marry him anyway;
sink into depression, and marry him anyway;
laugh, say we have an understanding, and marry him anyway; or
accuse you (correctly) of trying to sabotage her relationship.
But don't bother. She already knows. Stripper sweat smells sweeter than any soap he's used to hide it.
My advice: Hold your tongue and wish her well. And instead of giving them a toaster for their wedding gift, give them a wad of $5 bills.
- Ken Hegan, Vancouver
Final word
Dear Strip Club Clouseau:
While I, too, would be distressed by the sight of my friend's future sitting in perverts' row, lap dog to the lap dance, you have missed your opportunity to cry foul. It was then. That night. To him. Under the strobe lights. To the tune of Careless Whisper. Now, you will have to let her find out for herself.
Scumbag or sweetheart? The question is hers to answer, not yours. And as Spill-the-Beans Shannon points out, as far as you know, she's already aware. This guy is, after all, her long-time love and the truth, like a homing pigeon, has a way of finding us. As a general rule, women know a lot more than they let on. So why do they promise themselves to cads, cheats and liars? This is a prickly riddle that belongs to the house of love, where sexual fantasy is busily negotiated every five seconds. Sadly, its firmly closed doors are impenetrable to even the most deft spy. So, console yourself with this: At least his perversions are legal.
I counter Lynn the Narc and stand with Wad-of-Fives Ken. Heed the multiple choice and heed the possibility of undying love - stripper sweat or no. Put away your magnifying glass, belt your trench coat and tuck this one under your mustache. Let him have his secret, and hope that she, like so many before her, is in on it - for better, or for worse.
Claudia Dey's plays, Beaver, The Gwendolyn Poems and Trout Stanley, have been staged across Canada and, once, in the former communist headquarters of New York. Her first novel is forthcoming from Coach House Books in the spring of 2008.
Related: Group therapy
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Group therapy: from www.theglobeandmail.com
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