Dear Dr. Perfect,

Do I dare eat a peach? 

Signed, 

J. Alfred

————————

Hello Al,

Are we talking fresh or canned?

I must admit this is a nice break from the standard trove of letters blathering about sexual compatibility, fatal illness, or fashion crimes.

I espouse the methodologies of perfect living in all my columns. Most people get it. 

Those seeking a perfect life must operate at full capacity. Short-term decisions lead to long-term rewards. 

everything and everyone were perfect, the world would lose all meaning. We’d all be robots. Eliminate all self-imposed hindrances in your life and get with the program. 

As a child, my mother would ask me about my day. She usually did this while cleaning the glass of the family trophy display case. 

When asked about my day, I would respond with “fine,” forcing my mother to slam her fist onto the glass display, startling our twin Siamese cats, Sigmund and Carl.

“That is not an answer!” she seethed. “You have the opportunity to learn, grow, and live every day, and all you can say is fine. Your destiny is what you make it.”

Silence filled the room, save for the distant ticking of our antique grandfather clock.

Eat the peach, Alfred. 

Get busy. 

Tempus fugit. 

Move upstage.

Let the juice overdrip your toga.

And don’t ask me again.

---

Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.