I'm a theater performer, and there's a tendency among theater people that disturbs me: dreadful over-the-top flirting. I'm a portly, bearded guy pushing 40. At my last show, I was sitting in a seat minding my own business when a young woman in the cast I barely knew came and sat on my lap. I'm straight, so naturally, I enjoyed this. But, when I responded by putting my hand on her knee, she jumped up as if she'd been electrocuted and ignored me for the rest of the show's run. Humiliating. To pre-empt that humiliation, is there a polite time, perhaps when rehearsals begin, to announce "I'm not your daddy or Santa Claus, and I'm not gay, so if any of you young ladies come sit on my lap, you might find my hand on your knee. Comport yourselves accordingly."

"Dear Advice Goddess,
I'm so troubled. Hot young women sit on my lap."

Well, definitely start wearing pants fitted with those spikes they use to keep pigeons off liquor store signs, or at least sew golf cleats to the front of your jeans. Or, if this sounds like a lot of bother, you could just consider yourself mildly lucky, and leave it at that.

In your defense, it's not like you're some chronic knee molester, constantly dropping to all fours in rehearsals -- all the better to grope the ingenue's patella. You were apparently supposed to consider this a sort of static lap dance. (You don't get to touch the stripper when you're getting a lap dance -- at least not without tossing her a couple extra hundreds.) Of course, in a strip club, the rules are clear. In drama group, it's harder to differentiate between "I want you" lap-sits and look-but-don't-touch "I want you to pay homage to hot little me." There are many ways to communicate, but women who wish to avoid being misunderstood will find the spoken and written word far more effective than the silent language of butt cheeks on a man's thigh.

Let's be honest: What disturbs you isn't the "dreadful over-the-top flirting," but the dreadful leaping up from your lap as if electrocuted. The answer isn't making pre-emptive announcements -- not unless you're in some race to humiliate yourself before other people can get to it. You just need to act like the kind of guy who'd be dangerous for a girl to tease. For a role model, I suggest the one-eyed, boozing, chain-smoking, gourmet food-hoovering poet/novelist Jim Harrison, who looks and sounds like the product of drunk sex between a pirate and a grizzly. At 73, with his mere presence, he makes young player-dudes seem to have all the sexual mojo of Julie Andrews. (As a woman, you get the sense that if you get too close, he just might grab you with one of his big paws, pop a truffle on you, and wash you down with a swig of Spanish wine.)

In other words, your problem isn't that you've been humiliated, but that you're acting humiliated, letting this girliepoo set the tone. Instead of hanging your head and hoping to evaporate, refuse to be shunned by teasing the tease: maybe pointing to your knee and asking if she'd like another ride on her new pony, or grinning and sticking out your hand, fingers wriggling, as if it might get loose and make another run for her leg. This should not only give you your superpowers back, but teach her an important lesson: If you're over 12, and you plop down on a man's lap, you aren't going to be asked what you want for Christmas.

I'm a 38-year-old guy in decent shape, but my prematurely graying hair makes me look much older. Should I try some of that hair dye for men I see at the drugstore?

Men self-dyeing their graying hair are today's version of bald men who thought they were fooling people while looking like a small animal dropped off a tree and landed on their head. It's understandable that you don't want to look "distinguished" at 38 -- a word 28-year-old girls use to describe their grandpa. But, what's worse than going prematurely gray? Going prematurely the color of fresh baby eggplant, like so many do-it-yourself Mr. Clairols. Others go way too dark; for example, light-skinned Jewish guys who end up looking like they hair-robbed Benicio Del Toro. If you must dye, make tracks for the salon. But, consider the look of self-acceptance: seeming comfortable in your own skin (and gray hair). You might call this the other "Just For Men" -- just for men who'd rather avoid being the guy who posted in a webforum, "Just for Men hair color turned the skin around my mustace [sic] a reddish purple color. How do I fix this?"

I've been seeing this guy for over two years. Although we spend lots of time together, we don't have a committed relationship. We've been off and on throughout this entire two-year "complexship," as I call it. Normally, we're fine until I start asking about us being more to each other. He then picks a fight and disappears. Out of the blue the other day, he told me I deserved more and said he didn't want to waste my time or make me miss out on somebody who could give me what I want. I told him I'm fine, and that I'm dating other people (I am). Still, I'm not sure why he brought it up if he didn't want to commit to me. I truly love him, and have since the moment we met. Do you think he'll ever be ready, or am I his "temp" till he finds someone permanent for the job?

You're about three blocks past "way too pathetic" when the stuff your girlfriends got sick of telling you -- "Dump him! He's just using you! You deserve better!" -- is coming from the guy you "deserve better" than. Amazingly, you take this as a sign he's ready to commit, rather than the obvious -- his guilt so overtook his self-interest that he's like the buzzard feeling sorry for the roadkill: "How 'bout I just have a few pecks of your hindquarters and then be on my way?"

Not surprisingly, you need to fancy up two years of hanging around not getting what you want by calling this a "complexship." It isn't complex in the slightest: You want a relationship with him; he doesn't want one with you, but he'll continue seeing you on what I call the Bag of Chips Principle, as in, if there's a bag of chips within a man's reach, he'll probably help himself to some.

To many, your situation might seem like a simple case of "He's just not that into you." And since you'd probably see a flicker of hope while blindfolded and being lowered head-first into a pitch-dark cesspool, let me make this perfectly clear: No, he's not. But, there's such a thing as readiness for a relationship. Finding the right person isn't enough. You have to have the right person at the right time. It's possible your guy hasn't been ready for anything serious with anyone. Instead of accepting that he can't give you what you want and waving goodbye, you most likely sealed the deal that he'll never be ready for you by being all over him like ants on potato salad. (Men don't want what comes easy to them, with the exception of "FREE BEER!")

But, wait, there are mitigating circumstances here! You "truly love him!" Great -- the universal excuse women give for doing something utterly stupid and self-destructive with a man. For a change of pace, show a little love for yourself. Take that old advice "If you love something, set it free." If it comes back to you, and comes back to you, and comes back to you, and still won't give you what you want, set it free again, and change the locks.

A man sitting next to me on a long flight really opened up to me, and I ended up sharing stuff I never tell anyone. He asked for my number, but I never heard from him. How does someone connect with you so amazingly, then walk away from you like you're any other stranger on the plane?

Welcome to the One-Flight Stand: Two total strangers, thrown together by airline seat assignment algorithms, sharing their deepest secrets over those little bags of pretzels and blankets that haven't been washed since the Wright brothers took off. With somebody you'll never see again, you can feel safe revealing stuff you'd only tell your closest confidant. And then, because you've treated them like a close confidant, they can start to feel like one. (Never mind that you can't remember if it's "Brad" or "Bruce.")

Some seatmates continue their relationship down the jetway, but most have broken up by the time they hit the terminal. As they're getting off the plane, there's that blast of outdoor air -- real life hitting them, along with the realization that there's no graceful way to fit 13D into theirs. Or, maybe they realize they got drunk on anonymity, and feel dirty for exposing way too much of themselves to a stranger. If you can't stand the post-flight chill, wear protection: an eye mask or iPod headphones. If you're willing to risk it, there's always that possibility you'll continue on with some seatmate, maybe even to the point where you find yourself joining him in the TSA line; joining, as in, "You may now cavity-search the bride."

This guy I met online seemed so perfect when we talked on the phone. We then had the perfect date -- talking into the wee hours and ending up in bed. Then, poof! He was gone. Not even a return phone call. I'd understand if we'd had a so-so time. But, we had great fun -- the most I've had in ages. So...was he on a different date than I was...or what?

Here's a man you could've been with forever -- if only you'd taken the liberty of cuffing him to the chair in your front room.

But, it seemed like the perfect date! Well, maybe his idea of perfection is romancing the hell out of a woman, getting her into bed, and getting outta Dodge. Or maybe, he decided to never see you again, but figured he'd see you naked first. You want to believe "This is love!" not "This is yet another guy who wants to get some while his girlfriend's on business in Boston." But, because of a common human cognitive error called "confirmation bias," you're prone to pay attention to stuff that suggests "We're meant for each other!" and ignore stuff that suggests he's thinking "For about five-and-a-half hours."

The human brain is a shifty little critter. Some evolutionary psychologists believe early humans would've been paralyzed by a clear picture of harsh (sometimes saber-toothed) reality, so we evolved the ability to shut down information-processing accuracy in the face of scary or ugly. So, you take in information -- wow, funny guy...nice Mercedes!...hmmm, 11 a.m. and he smells like gin. Your brain arranges the positive stuff in lit glass showcases in the front of your consciousness and dumps what you don't want to know behind boxes in some dusty storeroom...leaving you shocked when you finally hear "those three little words," and they're "That's All, Folks!"

Beyond your brain's tendency to say "Gee, that's depressing. I think I'll believe this instead!" if you're like many women, finding love isn't enough; you need a great story behind it: "We were childhood sweethearts, then we never saw each other again -- until that day in the Peace Corps when we literally bumped into each other in the jungle." When your story's something like "He 'winked' at me on AmishMatch.com," and especially if you're on the lonely/desperate side, it's tempting to fab it up with "Love at first sight! We just knew!" As opposed to "We found lots to like but thought we'd get to know each other before calling it more than a consistently good time."

When things get really intense really fast, it can feel like you burned through the entire relationship in a single date. The faster things move, the more likely a guy is to feel you're just dates away from fitting him with his electronic dog collar. Plus, it's a downer to a guy if it's no work to win you -- if he immediately has you eating out of his hand like a deer. Now, if you don't care if you ever see a guy again, and think it's unlikely he buried his last date behind his garage, go ahead and have sex on the first date. Otherwise, cross your legs for at least a few dates, and swap use of the P word, as in Mr. Perfect, for the other P word, Mr. Perhaps. Look only to have a good time, and you're less likely to find yourself "On a date with destiny!" while the guy across the table from you is on a date with...wait, is it LuvNLife777 or gurl4u29?

My boyfriend has a strange fetish: He gets very turned on seeing me in soaking wet blue jeans and likes me to wear them in the tub. My sister says I should dump him and find someone normal. However, he treats me great and sex is great...just add water.

"Just add jellyfish," and you've got a problem. Yeah, it's a little unusual: "Honey, I'm drawing you a bath. Wanna get dressed?" But, if it doesn't creep you out or cost you your job, what's the big deal? You're consenting adults. It's not like he's demanding you hold the cat underwater while he's filling the tub. In relationships, people do all sorts of things to please their partners: change their religion, drive a hybrid, regrout the bathroom. It's when the request is sex-related that other people get all eeked out. Frankly, with the crazy letters I get about where people are putting spikes in other people's bodies, your boyfriend's fetish is most noteworthy for how G-rated it is. Just go into any sex shop, ask for their rack of pre-shrunk, boot-cut Levis, and they'll laugh you out of the place -- all the way to that famous sexual fetishwear purveyor, otherwise known as The Gap.

I agreed to be in a friend's wedding, and unfortunately, she had to change the date to the day my boyfriend and I were going to Burning Man. When I told him I'd have to go to her wedding instead, he erupted in anger. He wants me to ask her to change the date, and says he'll "never forgive me" if I don't go with him. Now, we were only going to Burning Man together because he couldn't take the whole week off, so instead of going with his friends, he decided to accompany me midweek. I reminded him that we've been to Burning Man six times, and a wedding, presumably, happens once in a lifetime. He called me a hypocrite because I don't believe in marriage, but will "sacrifice my commitment" to him to celebrate her commitment. He argues with such vehemence, I'm beginning to doubt my own judgment and wonder if he's right. He's acted like this before, but it's become less frequent during our five years together. I don't want to believe my boyfriend's a selfish, manipulative ass, so...does he have a point? If not, how do I explain that you don't abandon your friend on her wedding day to run around naked in the desert?

If your boyfriend's ego were a pimple, it would burst and flood Vermont.

He's actually demanding that the bride rebook the church, the caterer, the florist, and the hall, and tell hundreds of her guests to change their plans. Because he needs you there when he accepts his Nobel? No, because he wants to bum a ride with you to go to stand around the desert and watch middle-aged men and women flitting about in fairy wings and clown noses, painting daisies around each other's nipples. It gets better. He's telling you he'll "never forgive" you. Because you slept with his brother, his best friend, or his brother and his best friend? Nope. Because he might have to pitch in for gas for a ride in some friend-of-a-friend's van that's been modified into a giant rubber ducky in a tutu.

What your boyfriend's doing to you is "gaslighting," which, unfortunately, only sounds like lighting farts on fire. It's actually insidious emotional abuse that gets its name from the 1944 Ingrid Bergman movie, Gaslight, about an heiress whose husband makes small changes around their home (like making their gas-powered lights flicker), then denies anything's different, making her believe her sanity's gone off its hinges. In a relationship, writes Dr. Robin Stern in The Gaslight Effect, you're being gaslighted when somebody relentlessly pressures you to believe the unbelievable and do what you know you shouldn't. Stern explains that the gaslighter "needs to be right in order to preserve his own sense of self and his sense of having power in the world," while the gaslightee allows him to bully away her sense of reality and self because she fears losing his love and approval. Of course, in your case, it could have something to do with not wanting to think you've wasted five years with "a selfish, manipulative ass." (Fart-play suddenly sounding inviting?)

Just as you don't have to believe in Santa to take your kid nephew to give his list of demands to some fat stranger in a fake beard, you don't have to believe in marriage to appreciate what a huge life event it is for your friend. Huge enough that it's reasonable to "sacrifice" your "commitment" to attend a giant acid-dropping fest in the desert. There are commitments, and then there are commitments, which is why there are bazillions of wedding photographers but few earning thousands of dollars shooting keepsake albums of people who carpool together.

Of course, you know all this. Or knew -- until Clarence Darrow, as played by a big, soggy-diapered baby, started in on you. Clearly, this is less about a wedding than winning. But, in a healthy relationship, winning sometimes means letting the person you care about get their way. A loving boyfriend might be underthrilled that you're attending the wedding, but he won't hammer you about it until you're not sure who you are or what you think. You either need to refuse to engage when he goes bully on you or refuse to stick around for more. If you do decide to leave, you shouldn't have to worry about finding a new boyfriend, just about hiring bouncers for the line of guys wanting to date you after hearing the reason behind your breakup: "Yeah, seems my ex just couldn't handle it when I said, 'Bummer that I have to get all dressed up and go to this wedding, but you live it up best you can at that paganistic, psychedelic orgy in the desert.'"