STRANGER THAN FICTION: UNDERWEAR, CELLULITE AND OTHER ASSORTED TOPICS

When people find out you write a column for the local newspaper, everybody becomes a comedian.

Sometimes their suggestions turn into great columns, and I take all the credit. Other times I just can't drag 17 inches of copy out of Aunt Myrtle's hip replacement. And sometimes the ideas just aren't funny.

A bookkeeper friend of mine rushed up the other day with this "great" idea.

"Okay. Like, the other day, I got a microwave," she said. "I was reading the instruction booklet, and when I got halfway through, I realized it was upside down and in SPANISH! Ends up when you flip it over, it's the same directions but in ANOTHER LANGUAGE."

Oh my.

The result of all this input is that I end up with lots of mini-columns. It works for Andy Rooney -- you know, the "don't-you-hate-it-when" guy -- and they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so here goes:

* You guys may not realize this, but women have three levels of underwear. There's the Sunday-go-to-meetin' drawers, the not-great-but-they'll-do drawers and finally the drawers that make your mother worry about your driving abilities. If you had an accident in those drawers and lived, she'd kill you.

I'm not sure if all men have levels of underwear, but The Other Half does.

Incidentally, fellow columnist Peggy O'Farrell thinks underwear, because of its contributions to health and well-being, should be a government subsidy like cheese and raisins. Write your local representative.

* When my sister was in high school and I was working at the newspaper in Sikeston, she asked me to help her rewrite a report. Proud that Jennifer would come to me -- the big, bad reporter -- I eliminated every trace of her work from the report.

Two weeks later, she got it back. The grade was a B-minus. The teacher's comment was "Good effort but hard to understand."

Ouch.

* A bunch of us from the Southeast Missourian went to an adult beverage establishment Thursday, and it was packed. A very drunk but gorgeous woman staggered up to our table and grabbed my arm.

"You're Heidi Nieland!" she shrieked. "Wow!"

I tried to look embarrassed but secretly enjoyed the attention in front of my peers.

"I was in there when you spoke to Dr. Mims' class," she continued. "I've never read your *%$#, but you sure are tall."

Double ouch.

* There's a connection between men and their remote controls that psychotherapists haven't recognized, but I'll let you all in. When they grab that remote and start click-click-clicking their way through every channel, it's an expression of their feelings about commitment.

You see, men do the same thing with their girlfriends. They date, don't call, date, don't call, always looking for that perfect girl -- the one that can hold their attention for more than two seconds.

Women don't do that with their remote controls. They click a couple times, find a program that looks decent, and stay there. Sure, maybe it's not the best one on TV, and maybe its a little dull, but she tuned in and she's sticking with it no matter what, dammit!

See the parallel here?

* You can measure a marriage's drop in passion by the increase in sounds you never made while dating.

* When women and men are watching TV together and a commercial for feminine hygiene products comes on, all the women roll their eyes and say, "We NEVER talk about that. It's so stupid."

We say that because, after years of fighting for equality, we don't want men to think we sit around discussing our level of freshness.

But, truth be told, every woman over 12 has done so at least once.

* The other day, a personal trainer at my fitness club asked if I'd like to help moderate a support group for "plus" women.

Triple ouch.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.