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A few short decades ago, I wrote a column for The Lakeshore News and Chronicle out of Pointe Claire, Montreal, Quebec. My copyrighted column was entitled, WITH SIX SENSES. I wrote under the name Phyllis Mass and later as Phyllis Mass Carter.
I started writing WITH SIX SENSES about this and that, and then life threw a serious adventure at me that resulted in an exciting series of seven or eight columns subtitled: MY DEAR BANK ROBBER. But that's another story.
A fellow columnist named Stanley Matthews enjoyed writing columns about my earlier columns. The title of his column was THE COMMUTER. I must admit I really enjoyed reading Mr. Matthews observations. I don't believe I actually ever met Stanley Matthews, but he was apparently enchanted with my columns and took it upon himself to respond.
It is now 2010, and I tried Googling to find anything I could about Stanley Matthews, but I couldn't turn up any reference to him.
Since I have not been able to find Mr. Matthews, I will take the liberty of copying his columns that pertain to me. One is entitled Casanova and Me and another, Fearsome Phyllis. Even the titles are enticing.
Should Mr. Matthews happen upon my blog, I hope he will be pleased to find that he is remembered and his column is still appreciated.
These are fun !
Phyllis Carter
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THE COMMUTER
CASANOVA AND ME
By Stanley Matthews
Three cheers and a gilt edged volume of the Kinsey Report to News and Chronicle columnist Phyllis Mass who has done more to boost this aging lecher's morale than a hot buttered rum on a frosty morning.
Just when I thought my sex appeal had plunged off the charts and I was about as desirable to the opposite gender as a bucket full of old door knobs, Phyllis comes along to cheer me up and say it ain't so.
In last week's column (With Six Senses), she dealt with marital problems and intoned that the vast majority of us are not only unhappy with our lot but many of us are playing, and the rest seriously considering a marathon game of musical beds.
And best of all, she revealed that there are ever so many ladies of varying virtues continually lying in ambush to lavish their seductive charms upon unsuspecting husbands like me.
Imagine that …. On little old me !
Among those Phyllis lists as potential samplers of my especial delights are the "sultry false-eyelashed hussy at the office to the plump-frump who sells him the newspaper."
I asked the office hussy if she was at all interested in sporting it up a bit with me but she merely told me to get lost. I guess she must already be somebody else's hussy.
And I buy my newspaper from a man He is a bit frumpy, I suppose, but not frumpy-sexy. You know what I mean. I have hunted all over the place for a plump-frump female type news vendor …. but to no avail. Do you know how frustrated a man can become knowing that somewhere on the streets of this city a sex starved plump-frump news lady is pining away for my affection and I am unable to locate her? It's driving me bananas.
Phyllis has also let out the secret that most of the neighbours' wives have been eyeing me with adulterous intent.
This is a startling revelation and I will certainly be more careful about sucking-in my gut when I am outside mowing the lawn or shovelling the walks now that I know all the ladies on the block are peeking at me from their bedroom windows and casting me in starring roles in their erotically imaginative adventures.
Wow … I may cut the lawn twice daily next summer!
But Phyllis warns that while practically all members of the opposite sex are out to get me the one that desires me most is my wife's best friend. She is, apparently, mad for my body.
I've asked my wife about this but she says she hasn't noticed any particular inability of her best friend to keep her burning passions for me under control.
She's not even sure she likes me.
I'm trying to get my wife to change best friends (there's a cute little blonde up the street) but she's not too keen on the idea.
Oh, well … things will probably start looking up pretty soon. If Phyllis is convinced that so many people are after me, surely sooner or later one of them will let me know.
In the meantime if anybody out there feels an uncontrollable desire for my affections (ladies only please), leave a mash note at the News and Chronicle office addressed to me and I'll get in touch as soon as possible.
My wife lets me out on Thursday nights.
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THE COMMUTER
FEARSOME PHYLLIS
By Stanley Matthews
I think my wife is divorcing me and it's all Phyllis' fault.
It's not because Ms Mass claimed in last weeks' column (With Six Senses) that she and I have been dating on Thursday nights.
No …the reason for the impending break-up of my previously happy home is not because of any alleged extra-curricular social activities on my part but because my wife has been reading Phyllis' recent columns dealing with marriage problems.
We've been married for over 10 years now and all in all it's been a good relationship. I don't think anyone will offer to buy the film rights to our marriage for a romantic drama starring Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant … but we've been happy.
Oh, sure … once my kindly spouse threw a frying pan of half-cooked bacon at me (and she knows I like mine crisp) and we didn't speak to each other for five days after her mother's last visit (was it my fault I happened to miss my train every night that week?) but I guess that's about par for the course.
I always rated our marriage as solid.
Then my mate started reading Phyllis.
"Dear …did you see where Phyllis Mass claims that husbands say 'you're crazy' to their wives when they can't win an argument?" she asked me the other night.
"You're crazy, " I retorted.
"She also says that husbands shout instead of debating with reason and walk out of the room rather than deal with conflict," my wife continued.
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!" I yelled back and went to my den to get lost in a book.
It's been like that all week. My wife keeps bringing up the faults that I have had, but she hasn't noticed for the past 10 years … until Phyllis happened along.
Now my wife quotes Phyllis like the Chinese quote Mao.
The other night she announced that we need professional help. I pointed out that the snow wasn't even off the fairways yet and besides I doubted if any golf pro would be willing to give lessons in February.
Apparently she hadn't meant that kind of professional help. She meant a marriage counsellor. Phyllis says marriage counsellors are good.
Now what in hell does a pleasant, even-tempered, understanding, jovial chap like me need to go to a marriage counsellor for?
Besides, my wife's not fault free. I've been sneaking a few peeks at Phyllis' column myself and I've begun to notice a whole bunch of things my wife has been doing for the past 10 years … but are just starting to bug me now.
If it hadn't been for Phyllis' help, I may never have even noticed.
Say … do you think Phyllis is getting a kick-back from some shrewd West Island lawyer?
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