Love Me, Big Mamma! [Ask Dr. Miro: What You Didn’t Learn In Health Class]...

Dear Dr. Miro, My wife is an overweight BBW (big beautiful woman). I’m talking at least 200lbs extra. That isn’t my problem – just more to love, right? I still want her in every way but her self-esteem about her body is so low that she refuses to let me touch her. I’m certainly no matchstick and she’s never been a small woman (I’ve ALWAYS loved that about her) but what can I do? I tell her all the time how sexy I think she is, that she’s not too fat for me and try to introduce playful “adult” activities but I keep getting shut down. I’m getting resentful that she won’t allow anything close to erotic to transpire between us PLUS I am tired of being rejected. Sincerely, Tired of Being Shut Out By My Big Mama Dear ToBSOBMBM, It is not possible to force anyone to feel good about his or her self. That is something they must do on their own. It is not a pleasant situation to be with someone who thinks poorly of herself. Speak with her about your desire for all HER voluptuousness! Leave the “you’re not so fat” part out. If your wife is a plentiful woman, then she is. No reason to pretend otherwise. Verbally re-enforce your attraction to her Rubenesque loveliness while letting her know how torn up you are that she cannot see her own beauty. Perhaps the two of you could go on an exercise/diet program together not necessarily to get “thin” rather to simply start feeling good. Show her how dedicated you are through your ACTIONS, since words are simply not working. You will be heightening the endorphins folks need to feel good about themselves AND you will be doing it together....

A Nerd Goes (In)Sane [Single White Nerd]

I walk into my supervisor’s office.  “This,” I say as I pull out a chair, “is going to be a sort of awkward conversation.” I’ve been building up to this conversation for weeks.  I’ve also been putting it off for weeks.  My inability to initiate this talk has dragged me into spirals of self-loathing and driven me into hiding from friends.  Who was I to have friends?  I who was not even able to have a small, completely professional conversation with a colleague?  What the hell was my problem?  Clearly I was fit only to sit on my couch alone practicing magic tricks and mourning for a life filled with dwindling possibilities. Sometimes I can tend towards the overdramatic. Anyway–the conversation.  I pull out the chair and sit down.  “As you think about reconfiguring the team,” I begin, “you should know that I’m going to be leaving the organization at the end of the quarter.”  I wait for a response.  After a brief pause, it comes.  “Ok,” says my supervisor.  “Thanks for giving us so much notice.” And that’s it.  It’s done.  Weeks of angst, lost sleep, and tension and it’s taken less than two minutes to take the action that will reconfigure my life in a significant way. In two months, I will be without full time employment for the first time in about 15 years.  Although the actual conversation was brief, the journey towards it has been long, winding, arduous, and annoying as hell to friends who have listened to me whine about wasting my life for years.  I’ve been hiding behind the security of a job.  Now, my jobs have all been for the social good–very noble.  And they have spoken for at least 50 hours of every week, usually more,...

MoneyMoneyMoney! [Ask Dr. Miro: What You Didn’t Learn In Health Class]...

Dear Dr. Miro, I’ve been dating a man for about 6 months and am very much in love with him. He’s sexy and handsome and treats me like a princess and my friends all like him too. The only thing is that we have very disparate incomes. I make about 3 times what he earns in monthly income. He never asks me for money, and isn’t a tightwad when we go out, but I worry about our future together. He spends money when he gets it – I’m a planner and saver. Do you have any advice on when is a good time in the relationship to talk about money? How can I address my concerns without sounding like a worry-wart? Sincerely, Happy In Love Worry-Wart Dear HILW-W, How wonderful for you to have met this amazing gentleman! The question of money can be tricky. We are not often taught how to approach money matters and become uncomfortable when this topic is broached. A good time to talk about this is RIGHT NOW. If it is causing you worry, then he should know. Words of warning: do NOT bring this up during fore play, Sexy Time or post coital bliss out. (Although the above sounds like a no-brainer, you would be surprised!) While reminding him of how happy you are to be his, let your man know you are having these concerns about your economic future together. He may have been having some similar thoughts. Make sure to come from a place of love and confidence as opposed to insecure accusations of him not being a suitable provider. It is best to get it all out on the table instead of shoved beneath the rug where you will trip over it for years to...

Four Eyes [Tall Drink of Nerd]

When I turned 8, I got my first pair of glasses. They were HUGE and I immediately felt self conscious in them. It was the beginning of my dorkness. As puberty hit, so did a bigger pair of glasses. My eyeballs only wanted to see things close up. So, as my nearsighted-ness worsened, so did the lenses. They grew thicker and thicker through my teen years. I was sure that I was hideous. I was sure that no one would ever find me attractive. I was sure that about 75% of my problems were caused by the fact that I had to wear glasses. (I’m now aware that my tendency to be over-dramatic, and towards depression, and that I lived in a small town where I fit in like a flamingo at a drag race, didn’t help. But mostly, it was the glasses.) So 10 years into the vision enhancement experience, my parents decided I could finally get contact lenses! Woo Hoo! Maybe now, boys would make passes at me, because as everybody knows, boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses. My nose might not be getting thinner and my boobs may never get bigger, but at least I didn’t have to wear those ugly-ass glasses! I remember breaking my contacts in. When I was 18, my summer job consisted of mowing lawns for old ladies. As it was a small town, the job options were few. The eye doctor said I could only wear the lenses for 2 hours at a time, and I planned those times when I would be out pushing a mower in high August heat. The sweat and dust totally got into my eyes, but the usual red imprint of sweat on my nose wasn’t there! Everything...