Dan Savage doesn’t know what to do about boobs.

I watched a video of your recent appearance on Real Time with Bill Maher and you appeared to be wearing a Queen’s University engineering jacket. I was a Queen’s med school student and am now an emergency doctor at the same university and have seen those jackets around for the past decade---where did you get that? Did you go to Queen’s? Or are you just showing your loyalty to a country that recognizes your marriage?

---Kari At Queen’s University

I did not attend Queen’s University, KAQU. The jacket was a gift from a friend because, well, isn’t it obvious?

And while we’re on the subject of all things Canadian, I said something on Real Time that seems to have upset all those normally placid, easygoing French-speaking Canadians. While discussing the hyper-religiosity of the American electorate, I made this observation: “Australia got the convicts. Canada got the French. We got the Puritans. We’re stuck with them.”

“I was very pleased to see that you are putting French-Canadians on the same level as the Australian convicts,” writes JNR of Montreal. “As a matter of fact, a few of these convicts came from Quebec, from where they were banished after the 1837-38 riot. But please don’t compare us to the Puritans.”

For the record: It was a compliment, Quebec. What I meant, of course, was that Australia was lucky to get the convicts, Canada was lucky to get the French, while we got stuck with the fucking Puritans and their sex-hating, Jesus-freaking, GOP-voting descendants. In fact, I’ll prove how much I love French-speaking Canada by offering English-speaking Canada this deal: The sane people in the United States will happily trade you the Bible Belt for Quebec. We’ll take those contentious secessionist headaches off your hands, and all those bilingual street signs, if you’ll take the 22 percent of our country that still believes George W. Bush is doing a good job. You get Mike Huckabee and Gary Bauer; we get Justin Trudeau and Antoine Vermette. We get all your hot, uncut boys with sexy accents from Montreal; you get all our slope-shouldered, slack-jawed yokels from Mississippi. Do we have a deal?

I love your column, and am sure you’ve already gotten a million emails about Oklahoma state representative Sally Kern and her hateful gay-bashing video on YouTube. She’s deplorable and other people deserve to know about her
hating ways. ---Justine

“I’m not anti-, I’m not gay bashing,” Sally Kern says on her now-infamous audio recording, before she goes on to say that homosexuality is “the biggest threat that our nation has, even more so than terrorism. Or Islam, which I think is a big threat.” Nice. Then after exposing early childhood education for what it is---a gay plot, dontcha know---Sally bemoans the fact that “gays are infiltrating city councils---they are winning elections!” We certainly are, Sally, because infiltrating city councils---and school boards and state legis-latures---isn’t just for right-wing Christian
bigots anymore.

Decent folks are understandably angry with Ms. Kern. But instead of sending Sally an angry email---excuse me, I mean in addition to sending her an angry email (sallykern@okhouse.gov)---make Sally’s worst nightmares come true. Patrick Flaherty is running for alderman in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. He won an eight-way primary, with 32 percent of the vote, on February 19, and the general election is coming right up on April 1. If you’re pissed at Sally Kern, don’t just send her an angry email. Help make her worst nightmares come true, by sending a campaign contribution to Patrick Flaherty---who has been endorsed by Milwaukee’s mayor, the Victory Fund, and others---by going to his website: patricknewleadership.com.

My wife beat breast cancer five years ago---went through chemo and radiation and, ultimately, radical surgery. She is a brave, lovely and lucky woman. But after the procedures, she said she was proud of her post-op look and the zigzag scar across her chest. No new boobs for her. Moi? I don’t like going to bed with Peter Pan. We talked about this and she wants to stay scarred and boobless. I respect her wishes. But I get weirded out instead of excited every time I see her nude. Our love life has gone the way of her boobs and I feel guilty because I can’t get over this. She will, however, wear boobs when we go to weddings and other functions. ---I Miss Her Boobs

But, um, that’s really neither here nor there---there are no conditions that breast implants can cure (erectile dysfunction doesn’t count)---and the analogy is totally offensive and I’m probably gonna have to disable my email account for a week. Other offensive analogies spring instantly to mind---how would I feel if my boyfriend’s ass imploded? How would I feel if his body aged and after a few decades together he wasn’t the exact same 23-year-old club kid I picked up in that gay bar?---but seeing as none of that will ever happen, let’s set these hypotheticals aside, shall we?

I’m vamping, IMHB, because there are no easy answers. One might hope that your love for the wife would trump your weirded-out feelings and you would come to appreciate the wife’s boy-with-large-zigzag-scar-running-across-her-chestish new body. One might also hope that your wife’s feelings for you might prompt her to see her boobs as something that brought you joy, not just as the part of her body that attempted to kill her, and that she might be willing to get implants for your sake. Because although it’s her body---you also have a stake in it. Sometimes literally. Anyway...

But you can’t get over it and she sees her new body---and perhaps the victory over death, symbolized by those scars---as more important than your shared sex life. So you’re at an impasse and the standard advice for couples at an impasse---
compromise---just won’t cut it. (“Maybe just one implant, honey? The left one was always my favourite.”) The only other compromise is so obvious and unsatisfactory---would she consider wearing her fake breasts to bed every now and then?---that you’ve probably already discussed and/or tried it. So, like, I’m really flailing around here. In fact, my flailing was so obvious that a coworker---a straight guy---noticed and asked what was up.

“Isn’t that why god invented doggy-style?” he said, after I read him your letter. “Just man up and turn her over, dude.” That’s all I’ve got. Sorry. a