The Luv Doc: Buttering Your Muffin

Dear Luv Doc,

I've discovered a wonderful cure for the stress I endure when stuck in Austin's awful traffic: I pleasure myself. It's great, and my road rage is gone! Idling in traffic means I get a little "me time" and now I look forward to long pauses on MoPac. I'm also getting compliments at work because I started wearing short skirts every day and my mood is so chill. Last week, I got stressed out in the long drive-through line at Chick-fil-A, so of course, I did a little jillin' off while I waited. I didn't know a security camera caught me buttering my muffin until I got a phone call from one of the employees. He got my license plate, asked his brother (a cop) to ID me, and then he called me for a date! I'm totally embarrassed, but he promised me free lemonade and chicken nuggets for life.

Would accepting his free food offer make me a prostitute, and should I go on a date with him? Could he ever truly like me for who I really am, or will I always just be the drive-through diddler? And what would I say when friends ask how we met? Please help!

– Ménage à moi

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I'm a fake doctor, not a fake lawyer, but I am fairly certain that receiving a lifetime's worth of Chick-fil-A chicken nuggets for going on a date doesn't make you a prostitute; it just makes you a fat person with an impacted colon. Your drive-through boo should have probably considered that before making his offer. My guess is that his lifetime commitment to fulfilling that offer will not outlast his employment. I truly doubt whether he could make it more than a few decades without experiencing congestive heart failure, so if you're going to take that lagniappe, I wouldn't go much past second base. The lemonade ain't worth the squeeze.

So legally, at least, you're golden, as long as you're willing to date a guy who makes, on average, $8.69 an hour. I know this is going to sound really elitist, because it is, but if I am making $8.69 an hour, I better be a high school kid with chronic acne who is saving up for a gaming computer, otherwise I might as well be selling crack. Yes, that may be a harsh indictment of the American economic system, but I would wager that the scroungy looking dude on the interstate access road holding a cardboard sign is making more than the perky teenager wearing the Britney Spears headset mic in the Chick-fil-A drive-through.

Regardless of his tax bracket, never discount the sexual voraciousness of a pimply-faced teenager. You can rest assured he is pretty much a semen-filled pressure washer. Just be careful when you pull the trigger. Maybe put on some ski goggles or something. And I wouldn't worry about him being judgy; I would be more concerned about his crooked-cop brother who ran your plates. He's definitely someone you don't want to cross. Otherwise, I don't think there is any doubt this guy loves you for who you are. He didn't have his crooked-cop brother run your plates because you were the one-in-a-million Chick-fil-A drive-through customer who orders a Cobb salad. He was smitten by the real you. So, when friends ask you how you met, just tell them you were buttering your muffin so much you needed to hit it with a pressure washer. They'll understand, and if they don't, they're not your friends.