Should you bring a child into the world with a raging psycho who can occasionally be nice? Um...well...sure...assuming you've already struck out with all the crack-addicted prostitutes. ("Aww, look, little feller's got his daddy's eyes and his mommy's Hep C.")

While other guys' wives spend long hours reading self-help books, yours apparently favors how-to guides to totalitarianism ("The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Despots"?). Now, it is possible some of her behavior traces to some postpartum-type upset; maybe hormones running wild after her miscarriage. Then again, you made it clear in our e-mail exchange that she was rather witchy prepartum. Sure, it's tough for a woman who sees her eggs on the reduced-for-quick-sale rack. But, clearly, there's something radically wrong here -- something that begs for more intervention from a mental health professional than a set of rules. Regarding her ticking clock (with the loose cannon attachment), there are a lot of things you can call a woman who goes off on you like she does, but let's hope the last thing anybody'll be calling her is "Mommy."

As for what she calls you, we all get embarrassed by the little names our partners give us when emotion takes over; you know, Booboo, Sweetiepants, Pookie, or, in your case, Pure Evil, and Cold and Heartless Machine. You've spent so long with an exploding woman -- an emotional blackmailer who tries to hell-state you into meeting her demands -- that the nasty life has become normal life. In fact, the way you put it (from your hotel room in Stockholm syndrome), the real problem is that she's "amazingly sweet and giving" -- when she isn't nearly putting your eye out with her rings. You need to recognize her behavior for what it is -- domestic violence that can lead to more serious violence, should she run out of expensive jewelry to bean you with and reach for something a little heavier.

It's fine by me if you want to hang around looking for the good in some woman while she bends silverware with her screams, but you and your wife aren't just two people making each other miserable. One of you is desperately trying to make a third person. You need to do everything in your power to see that your as-yet-unborn child remains unborn. While I'm not usually one to explicitly advise people to end relationships, in your case, let me make this perfectly plain: Get out before she straps you down, hooks up the vacuum cleaner, and takes your sperm.

You, too, need to start a conversation with "Remember when," as in, "Remember when you divorced me and married that other woman?" He could be delving into the milestones of her life, like where she was when Britney and Justin called it quits. Not surprisingly, he seems to prefer adult conversation with a woman who knows who he is and where he's been. Inform him, kindly and politely, that from now on, you'll only talk about the children; that is, the children you gave birth to. He's made his bed, and tucked a very young woman into it, and it's time he focused on things they have in common, like how 10 years ago, he was driving carpool and she was riding in one.

When people ask, "So, how'd you two lovebirds meet?" you don't want them guessing your answer will be something along the lines of "Standing next to each other at the urinal."

Some women find a nice guy; some women just become one. Unfortunately, a woman won't keep a guy from cheating on her by wearing Carhartt or buying her lingerie in packs of three in the men's department. Some guys do like the sportier girls -- the kind who camp and wear boots made for walking, and not just for those perilous 26 steps from the car to the restaurant. But, even for those guys, there have to be hints of girlyness -- enough so you can tell who's the girl and who's the boy without doing a look-see down everybody's Levis. Besides, as you surely know, it's hard enough being faithful to a really sexy woman, let alone one whose idea of staging a seduction involves undoing the top button of her flannel work jacket and burping suggestively.

Men like to chase things. They're the hunters of the species. They don't like to be gathered. But, we live in modern times! Yes, we do, but psychologically, we're all still living in the cave. So, you want to want your girlfriend, but she never even gave you the chance to try to deal her into bed. All it took was complying as she dragged you there. Then this relationship fell on you like the house in "The Wizard of Oz." You never got to experience falling for her (which probably wouldn't have happened anyway, considering she shops exclusively in The I Don't Care Collection, and had an entire lesbian soccer team under the impression that the last thing she wants to do is attract a man).

As bad as you feel about being with girls for their hotitude alone, you aren't a better guy for sticking with this one for her lack of it. In fact, this supposedly noble act of yours has unhappy ending written all over it. A wiser, kinder approach is coming up with six or seven bare minimums for what you need in a partner -- the stuff you can't live without, from looks to character. You can have a relationship of substance -- once you admit that it has to include substances like lipgloss, and a girlfriend who can get in touch with her feminine side without hiring a private detective.

Here you are, two lovers, torn asunder by fate -- or rather, the fact that one lover totally forget about the existence of the other until he got a little high and dry on JDate. What do you tell guy number one? Well, first you wait for him to call. Then, if he asks you out, tell him a time that works for you. Period. Men are not known as the chattier sex. In fact, it's usually safe to assume they don't want to talk about it. Even if they're in a relationship with you. And especially if they're in a relationship with you that's best described as "We're still in contact, via e-mail."

To your credit, you aren't hoping to achieve "balance" by having a couple of bowling balls inserted. No, you're thinking more along the lines of "Zen and the Art of Bolting Two Tennis Balls to Your Chest."

It's understandable, after weight training and Weight Watcher-ing yourself down to where you can wear a bikini instead of using it for an eye shield, that you'd like to fill it with "nice boobs." According to hundreds of comments from men on my blog and elsewhere, those are probably the ones you have, even if they are on the small side. The consensus? Bought breasts tend to feel hard and unnatural, and (eeuw!) a bit cold to the touch. Sure, some guys love big honkers so much, they don't mind if they're fake. And, even guys who don't like fake'uns will tell you they can look pretty boobtacular in a sweater. But, when they're naked or peeking out from triangles of Lycra, they tend to look freaky and make guys wonder what's wrong with you that you felt compelled to hire somebody to slit you open and insert sandwich baggies of salt water or silicone.

How much time, exactly, do you spend in a bikini? Got a day job traveling to convention centers and sitting on top of cars? Is your workstation a greased pole? Keep in mind that all surgery has risks. Just ask the Argentinean model who went under the knife to get a little extra junk in the trunk. Oh, sorry -- you can't because, in the words of her friend Robert Piazza, she's a woman who "had everything" but "lost her life to have a slightly firmer behind."

You're unlikely to die getting a little more junk in the top bunk, but you may suffer complications like a buildup of scar tissue, which can cause painful tissue contraction and -- whoops! -- deformed breasts. Mmmm, sexy! And then, like toupees and car tires, implants eventually need to be replaced. Maybe every 10 years; maybe more often if you're one of the lucky ones who springs a leak. (Are we having funbags yet?)

Given the potential costs of breast augmentation, you might first try bra augmentation. Maybe even see a breast psychic. Okay, there's no such thing, but the little old Eastern European ladies at bra specialty stores come close. You can walk in bundled up like Nanook of the North, and Ludmilla will march over, bark your size at you (the size you really wear, not the size you think you wear), and strap and cup you until you almost believe somebody at the gym turned in what you lost on the treadmill.

Still find yourself yearning for a surgeon's touch? Do your homework, and be sure you can accept the worst-case scenarios; for example, how the advice by flight attendants -- "Use caution when opening overhead compartments. Objects may shift in flight" -- applies to those considering implants, which can also become displaced. In other words, if you buy yourself new boobs, you're sure to have guys ogling them, but possibly just from the rear.

Nothing takes the weird and awkward out of dating like sending a guy a typed statement about how weird and awkward you found your date. He's sure to be inspired to look to the future with you, a la "Are you free Friday around 8? How about you go out with some other guy?" As for your stilted evening, maybe he's seeing somebody else and feeling guilty; maybe it was hard reconciling the phone you and the in-person you; maybe his tighty-whities were riding up. If he calls again, you might steer your next date to someplace there's bigger action than the two of you -- a hike, an arcade, an intellectual amusement park (aka a museum). If he doesn't call, you could text him -- as if by accident -- with one of those form messages that came with your phone. "In a meeting"? Confusing, yes, but a better way to say "call me!" than "Had a really crappy time. Looking forward to many more crappy times in the future."

The course of true love doesn't always run smooth, but must it really run around the house waving a frying pan and screaming obscenities?

People romanticize living in close proximity to other human beings. The truth is, humans are smelly, annoying, and leak a lot. They're often lazy and pick fights over the littlest things. Anybody who's ever been around another human knows this, but for many, being in a grown-up relationship involves understanding human nature but living in total denial of it: expecting your partner to still look longingly at you when you pick dead skin off your toes and collect it in a little dish.

Mrs. Socrates here wears her misery like a Girl Scout badge -- whichever one they'd give you for spending decades sitting silently across from your supposedly beloved at Denny's. The reality? Maybe she's a little long in the tooth and light in the Botox to compete with the hot young things in bars. Maybe she only feels like somebody as Mrs. Somebody. And, chances are, it never occurred to her that there's an alternative to living like two hens in a pen. But, there's no going back now, only snarling at happy young women at parties that they, too, might someday experience "the triumph of true love." Which, for her, plays out as "Never go to bed angry. Stay up and try to commit murder-suicide."

Sure, many couples prefer living together, or, in this economy, prefer it to living separately in their cars. And, if you have kids, it's best if you can say "Wait till your father gets home" instead of "I'll give your father a call and see what he's doing tonight." If you do end up living together, it helps if you each have a room of your own, where house rules don't apply -- providing you don't break any marriage vows or fire laws. Of course, it helps even more if you're both exceedingly easygoing, lobotomized, or comatose.

The reality is, you greet a guy way differently when you've had a chance to miss him than when he's always there missing the toilet. Living apart also means you're more likely to act like you're still in the pursuit phase: trying to be witty and interesting and dressing suggestively when he comes over, and not in a way that suggests you're halfway through cleaning out the garage. As for Mrs. S's notion that you can hate your way to true love, researcher John Gottman found that expressions of contempt are actually the most poisonous to a relationship. In other words, the path to true love might be a bit of a drive: whatever it takes so your boyfriend isn't always in your face, doing whatever it is you'd gnaw off your right hand to have him stop doing -- like breathing, chewing, and having large pores.

For best results, sell yourself like soap. When Procter & Gamble wants you to try a new laundry detergent, they mail you a little packet of the stuff; they don't throw a two-gallon jug over your fence and kill your dog. Likewise, the point of the first date is seeing if it makes sense to go on a second date, not letting a girl know how ashamed you were when you wet the bed at sleepaway camp. Too much emotional intimacy right away can feel creepy in retrospect. Or, you run the risk of getting attached first, then finding out how wrong a girl is for you later. To avoid going into overtime, overspend, and overshare, make the first date cheap, local, and short. Meet for a drink, for maybe an hour and a half. Have something you have to rush off to afterward. Even if it's just a conference call at your place. With your hamster listening in on the extension.

Yes, the suburbs are just teeming with wives calling to their husbands as they're going out the door for work, "Honey, want me to TiVo your dinosaurs thing in case your sex date runs long?"

Actually, it seems clear that vast numbers of people are having sex with somebody other than their partner or spouse. They just do it behind that person's back, as did the then-married Newt Gingrich, probing Clinton about lying about l'affaire Lewinsky -- when Gingrich wasn't too busy probing his naked congressional aide. Other married cheaters will roll out of a motel room bed, then snarl about how horrible and disgusting it is for other consenting adults to have sexually open relationships: those where partners honestly confront the fairytale notions that one person can meet another person's every need; that two people can remain together "till death do us part," and not get to the point where keeping the spark alive is a job for a Panty Bomber-load of PETN explosive.

The Bible is no help to those who claim that the multiply partnered are immoral and wrong. Gideon, the guy the hotel room editions are named for, had lots of wives and a concubine. King Solomon had hundreds of both. In Biblical Literacy, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin writes that "Biblical law permits a man to have more than one wife," but he adds that "biblical narrative...depicts multiple marriages as almost always leading to multiple miseries." Even Nena O'Neill, co-author of the '70s bombshell Open Marriage, came around to that point of view. She subsequently wrote in "The Marriage Premise" that couples may agree to sexual nonexclusivity, but often experience jealousy, insecurity, resentment, anger, and feelings of abandonment -- "sometimes as strongly as they do when a clandestine affair is discovered." So, a person can make lofty pronouncements about not wanting to deny their partner any of life's pleasures -- until the difference sinks in between having extra hot fudge and having the hairy guy next door.

As for your situation, are you in a relationship or a really tiny cult? You've made it clear the open thing just isn't for you. If your boyfriend cared about you, he'd say, "Aw, gee whiz, wish you felt differently," and probably be on his way. But, he's determined to have his cake and a bunch of other people's cake, too, so he's trying to bully and head-game you into believing you're small-minded and boring. He's got you so sidetracked defending yourself against bogus charges (looking down on him, finding him "disgusting") that you're on your way to glancing up from your relationship and finding that you're no longer part of a couple but a face in the crowd. Ditch this guy and find one who's open to discussing your needs -- beyond how you'll need to let him keep the key to your heart in a cabinet he bought off somebody running a valet parking concession.

I guess you're asking me to post a personals ad for you: "Enjoyed long walks on the beach; now enjoying short walks between electrified fences." Sure, the incarcerated man has his merits: There's no wondering where he is at night or worrying he'll run off with another woman (at least not for another 10 to 20). Of course, a woman who goes for a man behind bars almost always has something seriously wrong with her. Luckily, like almost all the prisoners who write me, you're innocent. Put your time into attracting a lawyer, and maybe you can invite a lady to your house instead of your House of Corrections. You'll get a better class of woman when you can say you're a 48-year-old artist/writer/musician rooming with another guy because you need to pick up extra cash, not because he got caught leaving three bodies in a ditch.