Illustration by Bob AulMy Dearest: Sometimes when I think of you, I visualize a stubby little wiener dog. A sweet, small dog that somebody feeds human food, therefore causing the poor wiener dog to have digestive problems that lead to abnormal gas. Poor li'l wiener dog. Just to break it down for you: food for human consumption—such as French fries, left-over hamburgers, steak, cheese, and so on (which, mind you, are commonly given to household pets)—tend to take a while to break down in the belly of such a beast. In the end, the intestinal tract (unable to digest such improper nourishment) is blocked with rotting, foul remnants of yuck, causing the wretched, offensive smell—the smell that (and here we leave the realm of analogy) reminds me of YOUR internal gas, a delicate, putrid, stench that could uncurl the toes of the wicked witch. My Sweet, I love you very much, but for the record, if the nose-plug plant shut down or its employees went on strike, I can't say I'd spend much time with you. And I may have to renounce my undying love for you, for I merit fresh air. Please—forever—carry a new book of matches in your shirt pocket. No hard feelings, Honey Buns.